Inheritance
by Dens Serpentis
Summary: Completely AU fic-What if Irina had taken Sydney away with her? What if Michael Vaughn's father really died for the CIA, but Michael was recruited by SD-6 before the real CIA got to him? SV, and now some Sarkney! ABANDONED
1. Reunion

A/N: This is a completely AU fic. I love wondering what would have been different if Sydney had gone away with her mother, so this is how my imagination made things work out. I'll try to regularly update, but I make no promises!  
  
A/N2: I LOVE REVIEWS!!!  
  
Jack Bristow walked quickly through the Los Angeles CIA headquarters, his stride smooth and casual---predatory---despite the fact that his very presence in said office would be enough to kill him, if the wrong people found out. But then, Agent Bristow of the Ruthless Nature and Stormy Face (as he was known behind his back around the CIA office) had never been a very cautious person. It was clear, today, to everyone who knew him that he was once again on the war path, in search of Director Devlin, a man who had once been his friend, but now was mostly just an obstacle he was always trying to overcome.  
  
Devlin was glad that he had informed the security guards to phone him if they saw Jack Bristow come to call. It was always much safer meeting the incensed agent somewhere public---where he would be (slightly) less inclined to yell or break things. Although he usually bore his old friend's dressing-downs with patience, today he was in a bad mood. So, instead of waiting in his office for Jack to come complain about his new handler, Devlin had decided to make Jack come to him.  
  
Jack Bristow was a man with little to lose and revenge to gain. Revenge on the world for taking his daughter, Sydney, away from him in the car accident staged by his KGB wife when she decided to leave. He was never in a good mood, he was always focused on the target, and he would mow over whoever was in his way. Rules were merely guidelines which, if they became troublesome, could be gotten around. He was also the best agent---a double agent, in fact---that this CIA office had to offer.  
  
Agent Bristow had no friends; in his mind, friends were just people who could become a liability. The closest he had to one was a younger man named Michael Vaughn. Vaughn and Bristow were the CIA's two double agents within SD-6, which made them valuable assets. It also meant that they spent a lot of time together; enough for a grudging respect to form between them.  
  
Jack was a game strategist; maybe he could help Devlin figure out how a captured agent who probably worked for The Man, but whom they knew absolutely nothing else about, could be made to cooperate. Poor Agent Weis, a good man and a solid, dependable worker, had been run through the wringer, so to speak, trying to deal with the troublesome agent.  
  
"DEVLIN!" Devlin winced. The ire in Jack's bellow was even greater than usual. Devlin turned around from where he stood facing the one-way mirror looking at the prisoner, expecting to see Jack standing in front of him. The thick steel door was still closed. Devlin was almost impressed; he hadn't known Jack had such a set of lungs on him. Then the door opened, and Agent Jack Bristow, long-time CIA agent, double agent at SD-6, and widower, stood before him in all his rage.  
  
"Hello, Jack," Devlin greeted pleasantly.  
  
"Devlin, you idiot," Jack fumed. "Your new 'handler'---" his voice dripped with disdain "---called me today at my home" this was said in a growl "requesting a meeting. When I got to the assigned meeting point, having wasted twenty minutes making sure I wasn't tailed, that buffoon Lambert informed me that he decided we needed to meet. Get to know each other. Bond."  
  
Devlin sighed. Lambert wasn't exactly the CIA's number one choice for a handler, but then, finding a handler for Jack Bristow had become a nearly impossible task. "Jack, we both know that Lambert's not a good enough agent to be the handler of a key double agent," he said patiently. "I could assign you a better handler, except---wait, didn't you scare them all off?"  
  
"If those were your definition of good handlers, Devlin, then the CIA's in more trouble than I thought it was."  
  
Devlin bit back a retort. It was a waste of time playing games of wit with Bristow. He always won. Instead, he tried changing the topic. "Look, Jack, I've got a lot on my plate right now. Care to help me out with a little problem, and we can try to figure out the situation with you handler later?"  
  
Jack grunted, which Devlin could only take to assume meant "yes." "What's going on?"  
  
"A CIA team managed to apprehend an agent two days ago who we believe is working for Irina Derevko." The CIA had only recently learned the identity of the new crime organization leader who was previously referred to only as "the Man."  
  
Jack could see where this was going. "You can't get her to talk." Then, under his breath, "And you wonder why I consider your agents incompetent."  
  
Devlin ignored the last bit. "No, we can't. We don't even know her name."  
  
"Who do you have working on her?"  
  
"Weis."  
  
"Weis is already a handler, don't you think this is a bit much to be putting on his plate?"  
  
"Jack, right now we're just trying to make first contact. You know how friendly and approachable Weis is. Hopefully we'll be able to pull him off by the time Vaughn gets back from his vacation."  
  
"So what's been tried so far?"  
  
Devlin grunted. "Weis went in there and gave her a whole long spiel about how she should cooperate, and how that would get her comfortable surroundings. She replied in Russian---I had an agent translate it, she said---get this---'Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die.'" At Jack's incomprehending look, he rolled his eyes. "It's a quote from The Princess Bride, Jack. So, after we spent twenty minutes hunting down an agent who could translate that for us, we realized she had told us nothing. So, then Weis started telling her how we knew she could speak English; that any half-decent agent had to speak English. She replied, in English with an extremely heavy Russian accent, and she sounded like she was struggling to speak English: 'No, a half-decent agent can get by not speaking English. But to be a great spy, one must know that and many other languages, non?'"  
  
He looked at Jack to see his reaction, and was startled to see him nodding thoughtfully. "Anyways, that got Weis really excited, since he thought he was finally getting through to her. They spent the next three hours with him asking her questions, and her being totally open and helpful, taking a long time with her answers because of her thick accent and the struggle to translate. So, after those three hours, Weis gets up and heads to the door. He turns around and says 'thanks for cooperating.' She replies, in perfectly unaccented English, 'You're welcome! Thanks for the chance to work on my Russian accent.' And, of course, as soon as we began to check the things she told him, we found that she had been making everything up."  
  
"Tell me this again, Devlin---we know absolutely nothing about this agent?"  
  
"Female, natural brown hair, brown eyes, height 5'11'', weight 120, approximately 18 years old, agent for The Man---Irina Derevko. No matches in our photo database."  
  
Jack looked about to speak, when there was a nervous knock on the door. "What?" barked Devlin.  
  
Haladki, an obnoxious, obsequious worm (only in the figurative sense, although he had some extremely slimy physical attributes, as well), popped his head in. "Uh, sir, Mr. Bristow, you should probably come see this."  
  
"What's going on?"  
  
"Agent Weis got tired of sitting in a room with the prisoner, and he broke all protocol, sir---I tried to stop him---and had the prisoner led from the holding room."  
  
"What!?" Devlin exploded. What was Weis thinking? "Where did he take her?"  
  
"Uh he got exasperated and said that he didn't believe she could be a certified field agent, because she's so young. Also, our reports said that she didn't put up much of a fight when she was captured, so Weis decided to take her to the training room and make her fight some real agents."  
  
Devlin looked at Jack, who, to his surprise, was nodding approvingly. "This way, he can see two things: one, how good her skills are, which from the report don't sound very impressive, and two, how well she responds to.........physical persuasion. It was probably as good a choice as any, and I'd like to see how it turns out," Jack said.  
  
And, despite the fact that Devlin was supposed to be Jack's superior, both Devlin and Haladki followed Agent Bristow as he led the way to the training room.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
The training room was crowded by the time they got there. They came in through a side door near the back of the room, which was why the prisoner's back was facing them; she had oriented herself so that she had a clear line of vision through the main door. Classic spy technique.  
  
Jack studied her closely, his well-trained powers of observation taking in every detail. She was slim, but athletic, with strong arm and leg muscles. He surmised that she was a runner. She was dressed casually in a black tank top, and form-fitting black pants which allowed maximum movement. She wore no shoes, but stood on the balls of her feet, bouncing almost imperceptibly. She was ready for anything. The only other thing he could tell was that she had brown hair a little longer than shoulder-length. *Like Laura's* was his unwelcome thought.  
  
As Jack watched, Agent Weis entered through the main door. He had changed into a gym outfit of standard CIA t-shirt and shorts. He walked onto the mat, looking ready for a fight. Jack listened as the prisoner's scornful laughter echoed around the room. "You want me to fight you?" She turned deliberately away from him even as she spoke. "You seem a decent fellow. I'd hate to kill you."  
  
That sounded to Jack like a quote, and he turned to Devlin inquisitively, thus missing the first opportunity to see her face, hearing Weis' rejoinder. "You don't seem like a decent fellow. I'd hate to die."  
  
Devlin rolled his eyes. "Another Princess Bride quote. Seriously, Jack, watch a comedy every once in a while, will you?"  
  
Jack didn't bother gracing that comment with an answer. Instead, he turned back to the action, and his heart stopped.  
  
It wasn't that he was impressed by the way she gracefully spun back around to face Weis, catching his punch mid-throw and throwing him to the ground with a loud "oomph," although in other circumstances he would have been.  
  
It wasn't that he was awe-struck by the way that she began tossing agents around the room as they rushed at her, first individually and then in groups, although Devlin and the other observers were open-mouthed.  
  
It wasn't that he was struck by her incredible beauty, although few men who saw her weren't.  
  
It was the fact that he knew her face, knew it as well as his own. The fact that that face haunted him in dreams. The fact that a younger version of that face had been one that he lovingly remembered with tears in his eyes.  
  
As she spun around to face another attacker (the agents were still acting in good sport, although the guards at the doors were looking nervous and beginning to aim guns at the calm woman who had suddenly become a fighting machine), her eyes met his. She froze, barely reacting as her distraction gave a lucky agent the chance to land a punch in her stomach. She stared at him for a long moment before abruptly turning away. Striding with a quick, fluid pace through the main doors (prompting the startled guards to hurry after her and make sure she didn't escape), she fled from the usually- stoic agent who was staring after her, his eyes carefully hiding his hidden, turbulent emotions. Shock---she was alive! Hurt---after all this time, she hadn't even acknowledged him. Fear---now that she was reentering his life, would Laura be far behind? Fury---how could Laura allow her to become a spy? And, above all those feelings, one which stood out the most. Ecstasy---she was alive!  
  
"Jack?" Devlin's concerned voice broke through his reverie. "Are you all right?"  
  
Jack turned to the man who was once his friend, and looked at him for a long moment in silence. "Her name is Sydney Bristow," he said calmly and coolly, before turning on his heel and striding through the door his daughter had passed through moments before. 


	2. Who are you?

A/N: Hi, everyone! You get this chapter for free because I was having a great time writing this fic. However, reviews are what inspire me to write!  
  
Sydney sat quietly in the interrogation room waiting for her father to arrive. She knew he would; while it was possible that some fathers might flee from the new problems presented when they learned that their supposedly-dead daughter was in fact a terrorist, she knew he wouldn't. It seemed to be a Bristow family trait to charge head-on into danger. They weren't reckless, per se, but they were passionate, and allowed that passion to drive them.  
  
As she expected, the door opened only minutes after she had settled herself. She tried to do as she was told, tried to compartmentalize her emotions, to choke down the rising trepidation, anxiety, nervousness, whatever you would call it that she felt when faced with the situation of meeting her father after twelve years of grief and separation.  
  
She still saw that instant only a short time ago when she had seen him for the first time in all those years. She had felt the adrenaline pumping through her veins, she had allowed herself to go all-out, to really feel alive for the first time in several days. She loved to fight, and she was very, very good at it. Although, to be honest, she was very good at all aspects of her job as a spy. Anyways, she had been about to turn and face a new opponent when she had turned and caught sight of him.  
  
Her mother had not allowed her to have any pictures of her father when she was growing up. She said that they needed to forget him, that the living should look to the living and not expect solace from the dead. She said that they did not need the constant reminder of what they had lost that a picture would provide. Despite that, despite not having a physical picture of her father to look at, Sydney had never forgotten his face.  
  
That was why now, twelve years later, she could perform a fairly accurate observation of how he had changed. He had grayed a lot; more than she had expected. He had more frown wrinkles around his mouth, and less laugh wrinkles around his eyes. His eyes. They were so haunted when she looked into them, but in that instant when they saw each other, she could have sworn that she saw joy in those eyes. He was no less fit than he had been that long time ago, although the pristine suit he wore today was much more formal than the usual casual dress clothes he had worn around his family.  
  
She wondered what differences he saw when he looked at her.  
  
Sydney was slightly surprised by the nervousness she felt. She was worried that she would be rejected, that he wouldn't be willing to let her back into his life. The past twelve years of her life had been a lie; now that she knew that, she could only pray that the one rock from her old life was still as much an anchor as she remembered. And, considering the fact that she had only been six when he had "died" and they had fled the country, she remembered quite a lot. She remembered riding high on his shoulders. She remembered him wearing a ridiculous beard and red outfit in his Santa imitation at Christmas. She remembered him tucking her into bed, reading her, not anything young and silly, but classics that she was far too young to understand. She remembered how much she loved him.  
  
So, when the door opened and her father entered the room, she didn't allow herself time to think. She didn't let herself slide into one of her aliases as she sometimes did to get herself out of tough situations she wanted to deal with. Instead, she stood quickly from her chair, launching herself at his stiff form and throwing her arms around him.  
  
They stood like that for several minutes, with her clinging to him, before she felt her heart break. She felt the tears slip from her eyes as she felt the sting of his rejection. She was about to pull away, to turn around and become Kate Jones, or maybe Katya Derevko, both strong women who could tell him that it had all been a mistake, when she felt him hesitantly put his arms around her. Gently at first, then stronger, he hugged her back, and she could almost imagine that the past twelve years hadn't happened, and that he was still her daddy comforting her as a child.  
  
After several more minutes of enjoying his company (and hoping he was enjoying hers), Sydney reluctantly pulled away. She quickly wiped her eyes on her sleeve and sniffed her nose. She was careful not to look at him, afraid what she might see. She hurried over to her chair and sat down before finally letting herself look up at him. She was surprised to see that he had been crying, too. His eyes were red, and the emotion in them was so open, so blatantly laid bare, that she knew that he was trusting her completely---trusting that she would not abuse his trust.  
  
They sat that way for several long minutesereto herself, they usually were.anger.dn'om the new problems presented when they learned that thei, neither knowing what to say to the other. Finally Sydney broke the silence in a scratchy voice. "You were dead. I still remember.. . that night, mum came in my room---said we had to go.. . that you had died, that we had to flee the country, that we were being hunted. So she drove us over a bridge into the water, then pulled me out and took me to where a boat was waiting to take us away. To Russia."  
  
Jack nodded, listening but at the same time not. He had known, after all, that Laura had survived the accident and fled. What had remained unclear was whether she had rescued Sydney as well, or whether she was truly as heartless as she had seemed, and she had left her daughter to die. Either possibility had seemed likely.  
  
Sensing that she had finished talking for the moment, he told her, in an unsteady voice, "You were dead, too. Your.. . mother did a good job staging your death. I didn't know that you were alive until, well, five minutes ago. It wasn't until a year after both of you died---a year after my world crashed---that the CIA told me. That your mother was KGB. That there was a high likelihood that she was alive. But they didn't know about you. I looked, S-Sydney, I swear I did, and when I found.. . nothing.. . it broke me. I loved---love you so much."  
  
"I love you, too, daddy," Sydney said in a small voice, wincing at how she sounded like a five year old again.  
  
They sat for several more minutes of silence, but reveling at how much joy a reunion could bring. Eventually, Jack forced himself to ask the questions he knew the CIA wanted answered. "S-Sydney," he still couldn't say her name without stuttering it "what are you doing here?" He felt a sudden hope. "You didn't come to see.. . me, did you? I saw the way you fought in there. A pair of CIA agents couldn't possibly have subdued and captured you. You came of your own free will."  
  
She looked uncomfortable (more uncomfortable than she already looked). "You're right. I did come here to see someone. Someone I need to find........." She trailed off.  
  
He felt a stabbing disappointment at that, and a stirring of jealousy. "Who? Who are you looking for? I don't understand."  
  
She shifted uncomfortably. "I think we need to start a little earlier in the story," she said softly. "You have to understand, Mo---Ir---Laura told me that she was KGB when I was nine. By then, I had mourned you, but I had started to open up to other people again. I think she waited till I was comfortable to knock me off my feet again. By that point, I had no one, no friends. She was my world. So when she told me she was loyal to Russia, I became loyal to Russia. And, when I was thirteen, and she told me she was loyal to The Man, I became loyal to The Man. Laura was the woman who could do no wrong, in my eyes. I wanted to be just like her."  
  
Jack looked stricken by her words. Laura had manipulated their daughter. She had played upon her love and trust to force her into the world of espionage. He was furious.  
  
"And I was. I was an avid student, I studied literature because she did. And, when I was sixteen, I announced to her that I was going to be a spy like she was. She was horrified, to say the least. She told me she had never planned on me becoming an agent, that she wanted me to live a normal life." In a completely teenage gesture, Sydney rolled her eyes. "It was too late for that, though. I mean, she had taught me martial arts at a young age as a matter of course. The same applied for languages. And I had grown up around some of the best experts in the business. Sark---you know about Sark?"  
  
Jack nodded. How could they not? He was the brilliant young man who had suddenly appeared when he slaughtered the leaders of FTL, then murdered the leader of K-Directorate.  
  
"Sark was around all the time after I turned twelve. He taught me about disguises, stealth, everything he knew. I think he thought I was a charming child. There were others, too, who taught me when I asked. So, when Mo---Laura absolutely refused to make me an agent, I didn't listen. I had planted a bug in the conference room days before I told her of my decision---" at Jack's shocked look, she said defensively, "What? I was a kid, and I had a way of spying on my mother. What else was I supposed to do? Anyway, I started pre-empting her agents. I would listen in on the mission specs, then beat her agents to the punch. After this happened a couple of times, she relented. I had proven my skills, and she couldn't refuse just because I was her daughter."  
  
Jack thought she should have tried a little harder, though. He would have tied her up in her room rather than let her become an agent.  
  
"I was very successful, as I'm sure you must know. I became her best agent; people never suspected that the young girl was a spy waiting to steal their most prized possessions. It was easy, it was fun. I loved it. And then came the day I found out." Her voice broke, and she stared down at her hands for several long moments before continuing.  
  
When she did continue, she didn't come straight out with what she wanted to say. "Did you ever learn Mo---Laura's real Russian name?"  
  
"No. She covered her tracks too well." Jack remembered full well how appalled he had been when he had been unable to find even a trace of her true identity.  
  
She nodded. "While you were married to mom, there were a number of CIA agents who were.. . killed in cold blood. Cruelly. Efficiently. They were people who had gotten in the KGB's way at one time or another, or simply agents who were getting close to things they were never supposed to find. The woman who killed these agents was named Irina Derevko."  
  
At his swift inhalation of breath, she knew he recognized the name. Irina Derevko was The Man. He closed his eyes as he waited for the ax to fall, waited for her to confirm that his wife, the woman he had loved, really had been a cold-blooded murderer.  
  
"Irina Derevko's alias in America was Laura Bristow."  
  
There. She had done it. She had betrayed her mother to the American government. For years, Irina had been so careful to avoid either she or Sydney being photographed. She had scrupulously constructed aliases for them which would keep them off the CIA's radar. She had ensured that for years the CIA---and other espionage organizations---hadn't even known The Man's real name. And now, with a few simple words, Irina's own daughter was giving the CIA intimate details of her life.  
  
"How---how did you learn all of this?" Jack choked out.  
  
"The bugs I planted in the conference rooms. I listened as she admitted that she had murdered those agents simply because she had been ordered to. She told Khasinau all the details---how some had begged, while others defied her to the end. It was like---it was like she was reciting the details of a book, Dad!" she cried. "Like it didn't matter to her what she had done. I was---am---horrified."  
  
That makes two of us, thought Jack. How could he have been so blind, to let her do these terrible things behind his back? He had never suspected her of deceit of any kind.  
  
"So you decided to come here and help the CIA bring her down?" he surmised. He was a little surprised that her anger at her mother was enough for her to take an action which would likely mean the death penalty for the woman who had raised her.  
  
"No!" Sydney said vehemently. "I have no loyalty to the U.S., to the CIA."  
  
He frowned. "Then, why are you here, Sydney?" He felt like a stern father interrogating his teenage daughter. It didn't occur to him that that was actually what was happening.  
  
"I.. .remembered the names of the agents Irina killed," she said shortly. "I did a search of them, I had to learn everything there was to know about them." She paused for a long time. "They were all people, you know? Normal people. Most were married; some had been divorced. And one left a child behind."  
  
His breath caught, and he said the name in his mind even as she articulated it.  
  
"Michael Vaughn. Such a simple name, to contain the worlds of pain he must have felt when his father was murdered, taken from him at such a young age. By my mother." She shook her head. "Irina didn't raise me religious. I've always thought it better to believe in myself than to hope a higher power will save me. But I do have a strong set of beliefs. One is that debts must be repaid. Lives taken must be repaid by lives given."  
  
He was afraid he saw where she was going with this. "Sydney---"  
  
She cut him off. "Children inherit the crimes of their parents, don't they?" she asked rhetorically. "I would say that Michael Vaughn is owed a large debt by the Derevko family. I'm here to try to repay that debt." She stared at the table in front of her, looking so like a lost child that Jack had to resist the urge to gather her in his arms and try to protect her from the world.  
  
"Sydney, the things your mother has done---they're not your fault. You can't blame yourself."  
  
"Are you trying to tell me you don't blame yourself for what she did while she was married to you? That you feel no guilt that you didn't catch her, didn't realize what she was doing?" His silence told her his answer. Tears were pouring down her face as she cried, "Then how do you think I feel? I lived with this woman for seventeen years, worked for her for one, without even suspecting the evil hiding behind her façade. If my blindness doesn't land the burden of her debts right on my shoulders, I don't know what could."  
  
He sighed. She was wrong. He knew it in his heart, but he didn't know how to tell her with words. True, he blamed himself for not having discovered his wife's guilt, but still---she shouldn't blame herself! "So you're here to help him by helping the CIA? Doing what, exactly?"  
  
She looked him straight in the eye as she answered. "You and Michael Vaughn are the CIA's two double agents within SD-6, one of the stronger branches of the Alliance. I know that Vaughn's entire life is devoted to bringing down SD-6, ever since his fiancé was executed for learning the truth. I want to help destroy SD-6."  
  
He stared at her incredulously. "How? Sydney, I don't even think you should be a spy. How do you propose to help us bring down SD-6? You have no connection to that place." He said that last with a confidence he forced himself to feel. He didn't know if what he had just said was true, or whether she had in fact worked for the Alliance, as well.  
  
"I don't have much of a connection to it," she agreed. "But it will be easy enough for me to become an agent there. I mean, I'm sure that it's helpful for the CIA having a game strategist and an agent to report to it, but another agent can only help. I know that Vaughn has been having trouble sabotaging missions because he has his partner looking over his shoulder. Well, now that his partner is dead, he'll be needing a new one. A double agent team would be much more effective."  
  
Jack was shaking his head. "Sydney, this is crazy talk! Even if you have the skill to be an SD-6 agent---" the doubt in his tone caused her to turn bright red in fury "---it would take you years to earn the head of SD-6's trust enough to be an effective double agent."  
  
Sydney was glaring at him. "First of all," she spat, "never doubt my skills as an agent. I'll remind you that I've retrieved more Rambaldi artifacts than all the CIA agents combined. I can outfight any SD-6 agent. Heck, if we want to talk about really good, useful skills, I can defuse a nuclear bomb in under 30 seconds."  
  
He gaped at her, and she thought for a moment before realizing what she had said. She turned an even deeper red, but this time in embarrassment. "Well, the last was only the once," she mumbled.  
  
"Where?" he asked in a strangled voice.  
  
She looked at him from under her lashes. "Grand Central Station."  
  
He closed his eyes for a long moment. "I don't even want to think about what that means," he muttered. Then he looked back up at her. "But what I said was still true. Fine, you could get the job if you wanted. But it would take you so long to get the boss's trust that---"  
  
She interrupted him, her embarrassment replaced by a victorious grin. "I know that joke I played on him last Christmas might put him a little on his toes, but I don't think that's enough for Uncle Arvin to stop trusting me!" she protested playfully.  
  
He froze. "Uncle Arvin?" he gasped. This girl was just full of surprises.  
  
"Of course. We see him once a year; last year it was Christmas. We're great friends."  
  
He frowned uncertainly. "You do know you would be betraying him by being a double agent?" he asked, eyebrows raised.  
  
Her playful look was gone in an instant. "He killed Vaughn's fiancé for learning the same thing I just learned about my mother. There can be no trust between liars," she said in a hard voice.  
  
Jack slumped back in his chair, feeling defeated. He had just gotten his daughter back, and now, at the first opportunity, she was going to fling herself gung-ho into a dangerous environment because she thought that would make the son of the man her mother killed feel better. He had one last hope: "I'll have to talk to Director Devlin about it."  
  
She looked at him, and the laughter in her eyes told him that she knew he knew he was out of excuses. "Very well."  
  
He gazed at her longingly before standing and walking to the door. "Wait--- " he heard her call from behind him. He turned, gaze inquiring.  
  
"A man named McKennas Cole tried to break into SD-6 on behalf of The Man a short while ago," she said. "I assume you know about that. He never reported in; I don't suppose you know where he is?" Her voice was carefully uninterested. Jack felt his heart squeeze. His daughter couldn't possible feel anything for that man could she? He was an insane, sadistic freak.  
  
"He's in CIA custody." Why did I tell her that?  
  
"Good," she said with a grin. At his perplexed look, she explained, "He calls me Pigtails. I've always hated that. And, about a year ago, he tried to get me to go on a date with him. I told him I'd break both his knee caps if he ever talked to me again." She looked smug. "The sleaze got what he deserved."  
  
Jack simply nodded, feeling more flummoxed by the moment. And, upon her last charming sentence, he left the room, closing the door behind him and thinking that that room contained the only person he loved in this world. He leaned against the door for several long moments, feeling his strength solidify and his usual cool demeanor slowly return. When he felt properly fortified, he narrowed his eyes. Time to find Devlin. 


	3. What are your intentions?

A/N: I realized I forgot my disclaimer in the first chapter. So, if you thought I owned Alias, then I'm sorry to disappoint you. Unfortunately, I don't own The Princess Bride, either. No more rhymes now, I mean it! Anybody want a peanut?  
  
A/N 2: Wow! I was overwhelmed by everyone's great reviews! They were great for inspiration for me to write more, although not so good for my attention in my folk music class, since I was so busy writing...truly, your reviews are what make me want to write. Keep it up! Oh, and Vaughn should make an appearance in the next chapter.  
  
Eric Weis was normally a very placid guy. He didn't let things ruffle his feathers, so to speak. He found simple pleasure in the joys of getting drunk and of playing with a yo-yo. He tried not to let himself get too stressed about work, because he knew once you started down that path you were lost to the terrible world of sleepless nights and unending worry.  
  
He was afraid that he had started down that path.  
  
It was nine o'clock at night and he was still at work. Everyone else had left except the night-shift guards, but somehow he found himself still sitting at his desk and trying to grapple with this new situation. He had been shocked, to say the least, to learn that Jack Bristow had a daughter. Somehow he couldn't picture a woman ever marrying the man, let alone having a child with him. He had always taken comfort in the fact that no matter how riled up he and Mike---Michael Vaughn---got about a situation at SD-6, Jack Bristow would always take care of the situation with his cool collection and biting, sarcastic remarks.  
  
But now things were different.  
  
Jack had a daughter, for one thing. For another, she was a butt-kicking terrorist with a love of The Princess Bride. For another, he told himself, wishing he had a beer, her mother---Jack's wife (Jack had been horrified to realize he was still officially married to the woman)---was The Man. Irina Derevko. The murderer of Mike's father. For another, he sighed to himself, wishing he had a yo-yo, Sydney Bristow was here because she felt some strange obligation to help Mike because her mother killed his father. Weis didn't think Mike would appreciate her help; in fact, he was afraid that Mike would try to kill her once he learned the connection she had to his father's death. Although, to be honest, he knew that Sydney would be able to kick his agent's butt without breaking a sweat.  
  
Of course, that would probably put them off on the wrong foot, since she had decided to be Mike's partner, and somehow she had convinced Devlin to approve her as a CIA agent within SD-6.  
  
He growled to himself. Mike was the first agent he had ever handled; before Mike came along a year or so ago, he had just been a paper-pusher. He had tried to do as he had been told, had tried not to get involved with his agent, but he couldn't help it. Mike was so broken when they met; fresh back from a meeting with an amateur dentist who had never heard of anesthetics, he had just learned that SD-6 was in fact not part of the CIA. The entire life he had thought he was living had been a lie, and his ignorance had led to the death of his fiancé, Alice. Weis hadn't been able to keep himself from pitying his agent. It hadn't taken him long to learn that Michael Vaughn did not appreciate pity. It also didn't take long for Weis' pity to morph into awe and respect at his agent's dedication and skill. Despite his best attempts to avoid emotional ties, he had found himself becoming a good friend to Mike; the only person Mike could really talk to (other than Jack Bristow, and nobody could talk to Jack Bristow).  
  
He was worried about the effect the appearance of Jack's daughter would have on his friend's equilibrium. He rubbed his eyes. At least they had several days to figure out what to do. Mike was on a vacation in Santa Barbara; after his last mission, in which his partner, Dixon, had died, and he had been captured and had barely escaped with his life, even Arvin Sloane acknowledged that he deserved some time off. He was due back at the end of the week.  
  
He turned off his computer. What were Sydney's intentions? She was a terrorist who had worked against the CIA for at least a year, who even acknowledged that she had no loyalty to the CIA, but for some reason people had decided to trust her. Weis had never thought he would think this, but maybe Jack was letting his emotions get in the way of his work. She was probably out to betray them all!  
  
He began to walk out of the office when he stopped. She was in the building with him, after all. Why shouldn't he have a conversation with her, to try to find out her real intentions? *Even though she probably thinks I'm a complete fool* he thought glumly. When he had attempted to punch her from behind on the training mat earlier that day, he hadn't dreamt that he would soon find himself lying flat on his back, all the breath knocked out of him and a roaring headache beginning to form. Then, of course, there was that fiasco earlier that day with the Russian accent.. .  
  
*STOP* he commanded himself. He couldn't let her intimidate him; after all, she was the one locked up in a cage. He took a deep breath and went to see the prisoner.  
  
* * * * *  
  
She had been moved from the interrogation room to a high-security holding cell. Weis had to walk through several barred gates before he found himself standing in front of her cell. There was a thin but extremely strong layer of glass which separated them. He got an eery feeling that he was Clarice meeting Hannibal in the Silence of the Lambs. He found himself inanely wondering whether she was able to smell his fear.  
  
She was seated on the floor with her back facing him, and she was breathing deeply. After a moment, she stood and turned to face him. "A meditation my mother taught me," she said in her sweet voice. "All the benefits of sleep in a fraction of the time."  
  
He began to nod, but he caught himself and stopped. *Don't let her distract you!* "I want to know what your intentions are toward Mike."  
  
Her eyebrow rose. "Mike? I assume you mean Michael Vaughn? You are, after all, his handler, are you not, Agent Weis?" She seemed perfectly calm in the face of his suspicion.  
  
"How did you know that?" he demanded. The fact that Mike even had a handler was a huge secret; if she was able to learn the identity of his handler, then she---and by extension, The Man, and whoever else found out--- held the power to reveal Mike's double agent status.  
  
She laughed slightly, a pleasant sound. "Please, Weis," she said. "Have enough respect for me to know that I did my research before I came here. As to my intentions towards your---friend?" She seemed to want his confirmation that he thought of Mike as a friend. He nodded reluctantly. "I merely want to help him. I'm sure you've read the transcript of my conversation with my father. I told no lies. My sole purpose here is to help him get the life he wants, and deserves." Her words and tone held the ring of truth.  
  
He stared at her uncertainly. "What happened to you?" he asked.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"You're---different than you were earlier today. Your entire attitude has changed."  
  
She considered his question briefly, wondering how much to tell him. She decided on the complete truth; for some reason, she found herself wanting this man to like her. Not just because he was Vaughn's friend, but because he seemed like a nice man in his own right. "I'm a spy, Agent Weis. In the past year I've assumed so many aliases, it's hard to keep them straight. However, I do keep a store of them, of sorts, which I can draw upon if I ever find myself in a situation for which one of them is more suited than Sydney Bristow."  
  
He looked confused. "So... who am I talking to right now?"  
  
"Kate Jones."  
  
"Why do you feel the need to hide behind your aliases? I would rather talk to Sydney Bristow than any non-existent alias."  
  
Her face shifted in an instant, her cool composure losing to an expression of shame, disgust, and unhappiness. "Because, Agent Weis," she spat, and he knew he was talking to Sydney now, "after all my aliases, sometimes it's hard to know exactly who I am. And, with the things I've learned in the past few weeks, the things I feel about what I've learned, I don't know that I want to be Sydney Bristow." He was shocked to see tears falling slowly down her face.  
  
In moments, she had converted his feelings toward her from fear and anger to---sympathy?  
  
"But I'll promise you right now, Weis, as Sydney Bristow, that I would never, never hurt Vaughn. I'm here to make up for the fact that he was hurt. Sometimes it's hard to tell where my true loyalty lies, Agent Weis, especially now that I'm becoming a double agent. But those that I am loyal to, I would never betray. I've committed myself to helping Agent Vaughn bring down SD-6. I would die to see that goal fulfilled."  
  
He gazed into her passionate eyes and believed every word. He wondered sadly how someone so young could be so old.  
  
Finally he nodded. "Thank you for that. Mike is... a very good agent, but sometimes I worry that his obsession with bringing down SD-6 will kill him. It's good to know there'll be someone else there to help him."  
  
She nodded. "I'll take care of him," she promised.  
  
He shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I guess I'll let you go now."  
  
He turned to leave, but stopped when she called, "Wait!" He turned. "Stay with me for a while, please? I'm not used to being so alone."  
  
"Um... OK," he said hesitantly. He wondered if he was going to get in trouble for conversing with the prisoner. "What do you want to talk about?"  
  
"Why don't you tell me about yourself?" she suggested.  
  
His eyes widened, and he had another flash to his Clarice-Hannibal picture of this situation. "How about we make a deal? Whatever you ask me, you have to answer, too."  
  
She smiled at him, and it was the first genuine smile he had seen on her face. "You're cleverer than you look, Agent Weis," she said, and he wasn't sure whether he had just been complimented. "Very well. What's your favorite movie?"  
  
He thought about lying and saying a very manly movie, but he suspected she would know if he was lying. "The Thomas Crown Affair," he admitted. He was glad to see that she nodded approvingly. "You?"  
  
She rolled her eyes at him. "The Princess Bride. Oh, and I was wanting to commend you for being able to quote that at me. Very impressive for a twenty-something CIA agent."  
  
"Thanks... I think."  
  
"Favorite childhood memory?"  
  
"My first kiss. I was five, and she was four. She left me for a boy with a skateboard, a day later, though."  
  
She laughed. "Mine is of my sixth birthday. Every birthday, we would go to the zoo and I would play with the animals. My sixth was the first year I was able to ride the ponies, with my parents on both sides of me waiting to catch me if I fell. And I knew that they would always be there for me." She was suddenly sobered. "Of course, my next birthday was spent running for my life as someone found my mother and me hiding in Russia."  
  
He felt a resurgence of pity for her. He couldn't imagine living a life on the run; in fact, the fact that he was a handler and not a field agent meant that he didn't even need to conceal his identity from the people he loved. He knew how Mike hated living a double---or, in his case, triple--- life, and he could imagine that Sydney hated it as much. "OK," he said cheerfully. "My turn to ask a question." Over her protestations that that wasn't the deal, he shook his head. "No, no, I get to have a turn. Let's see...I know Mike is always dying his hair for his missions. How many hair colors have you had, and what was your favorite?"  
  
She grinned. "You just had to ask vain old me about my hair color, didn't you? I try to be relatively conservative with my hair colors. You know, I like to stick to good old bright pink, or blue. I've probably had dyes and wigs of five colors or so. My favorite is my natural brown. How about you? How many wacky hair colors have you tried, Mr. Secret Agent Man?"  
  
He smirked. "Well, when I was about fifteen, I had my hair dyed green. After my mother's dressing-down when she saw me, I've stuck to my natural color, too. Although, I must say, choosing between my natural beauty with either green or brown hair would be difficult." He fluttered his eyelashes at her in what he clearly thought was an alluring way. She laughed.  
  
They were still sitting there an hour later, when Weis looked at his watch and realized that it was probably time to go home. He had enjoyed her company immensely, and he liked to think that she had appreciated his, as well. He had expected her to be clever, sarcastic like her father, and probably a curmudgeon. He hadn't expected her to be funny or to be able to provide more Monty Python quotes than even he could manage.  
  
He reluctantly stood to leave. "Well, good night," he said.  
  
"Good night," she replied softly. "And, Agent Weis, thank you."  
  
"For what?"  
  
"I know you didn't have to come speak with me. In fact, you would probably get in trouble if your supervisors learned that you had spent the past hour down here. But, it's good to know there's a nice, funny, smart guy Vaughn can depend on, and who, I think, I've become friends with. Thank you for taking the time to get to know me, and to let me get to know you." She blushed slightly, looking embarrassed, and retreated to a corner of her cell, lying on her bed, listening to his footsteps as he walked away.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
*I'm a nice, funny, smart guy? Vaughn, look out. You're gonna love this gal, and I don't know if even you can withstand the emotional rollercoaster that would involve!* 


	4. You've got to be kidding me

A/N: It's come to my attention that I've been spelling "Weiss" wrong this whole time...so if anyone's offended, my humblest apologies, and it won't happen again!  
  
A/N 2: Keep up the great reviews!  
  
Sydney Bristow glided through the front doors of Credit Dauphine, SD-6's front company, as if she did it every day. She was dressed primly in a dress suit, her brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her eyes were determined. She made her way to the executive elevator, her stride aggressive. She knew that, by now, she had been spotted by five security cameras on the ground floor of the bank. She also knew that the cameras would find no match for her picture in their database, so the people at SD- 6 wouldn't be alerted as to her arrival. Sloane was the only person at the SD-6 office who knew what she looked like; by the time he got involved in trying to identify her, she'd already be within SD-6.  
  
The guard in the executive elevator moved his hand to the blatantly displayed gun at his side. "This is the executive elevator," he growled. "Take a different one."  
  
She smiled at him. He was put off by that smile; so young a face should not know how to look so predatory. While he was still off guard, she stepped quickly into the elevator, knocking his hand away from his gun, pulling it out of its holster, and discharging the ammunition in one smooth motion. She dropped the gun on the ground. When the guard had quit cursing and looked back up at her, she was still smiling that frightening smile.  
  
"If I had wanted to kill you, I could have," she told him quietly. He knew she was right; she had moved so quickly his eyes hadn't been able to follow. She had moved quickly enough that no one on the ground floor of the building had noticed what she had done. "Arvin Sloane's a good friend of mine. He'll want to see me." When the guard still hesitated, she grabbed his right arm in her left hand, slowly squeezing a pressure point. He gasped in pain. "Of course," she said pleasantly, "even if I were here to kill Sloane or destroy SD-6, you'd let me down. You have no choice." That wasn't true, of course. How many times had her mother told her you always have a choice, even if there are no good ones? Still, it gave the pained guard the impetus he needed to use his key to lower them into the basement, then deeper. SD-6 was located, appropriately, nearly as close to the bowels of the earth as an elevator could go.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Michael Vaughn sighed as he entered Credit Dauphine. Officially, he still had two days of vacation which he should be spending lounging on a beach somewhere. Since Alice's death, though, he hadn't felt comfortable taking time off. It felt too much like he was taking a break from his quest to avenge her. So, here he was, back fighting the good fight two days early.  
  
The security guard of the executive elevator was in his usual place, although he looked decidedly more disturbed than usual. "Hey, George," Vaughn greeted. "What's going on?"  
  
"A woman forced her way into SD-6 a few minutes ago," the guard replied. "Those moves she used, I didn't even have time to think before she had disarmed me. The guards in SD-6 should be taking care of her right now, though."  
  
Vaughn looked thoughtful on the quick ride down to SD-6. He hadn't thought that anyone would be stupid enough to try to break into SD-6 at a time like this; after Cole's attack, SD-6 was on its guard even more than usual. Then the doors of the elevator opened, and he was greeted by chaos.  
  
Three guards were down in various states of disrepair. Every agent and desk-worker at SD-6 were positioned in a semi-circle facing the elevator doors; most were pointing weapons. The center of the mess was a young brunette with her back to him. Vaughn crept forward slowly and stealthily, preparing to take her from behind, thanking God that she hadn't seemed to notice his arrival, preoccupied as she was. That is, he thought that until he heard her call to him, "Whoever's behind me, please don't come any closer. Burst my personal bubble and I'll have to fight you, guns or no guns. Then what would we have? A mess with bits of me and bits of you strung all over this tidy office. I don't think Mr. Sloane would appreciate that."  
  
Vaughn was spared having to respond when he heard Sloane's voice. Clearly, the crime cell leader had just emerged from his office. He was shorter and older than most of the workers at SD-6; nevertheless, he made his presence clear when he barked in a clear, strong voice, "Vaughn, stand down." Then, to the woman, "I find that terrorists who break into my office rarely know what I would appreciate." He was quickly pushing his way through the crowd of confused and angry workers.  
  
Vaughn was intrigued; the woman tensed when she heard his name. She scoffed at that last bit by Sloane, though, "Oh, Uncle Arvin, I'm hardly some terrorist who doesn't know anything about your preferences."  
  
"Sydney?" Sloane choked. "What the he---what are you doing here?" He took in the carnage around her, where the guards were still unconscious.  
  
"Relax," she said with a grin. "I come in peace." He still looked unconvinced. "Look, if I were trying to perform another half-thought out SD-6 infiltration plan like that idiot Cole, I wouldn't have come here unarmed." Sloane looked less dubious at this; in fact, his eyebrow quirked in amusement as he looked pointedly at his guards. "Hey," she said defensively. "I told them not to touch me."  
  
Sloane sighed. "Gentlemen, ladies, you can put down your weapons. Sydney, let's talk in my office, please."  
  
She nodded. "Of course." She began to walk away, but then turned to the man who had tried to creep up behind her. "Agent Vaughn, eh? Nice to meet you," she said to the confused agent. He slowly took her offered her hand, marveling at her firm grip. Well, that and her beautiful countenance. And the way that little thing, who could only be 19 or so, had taken out three highly trained guards. And the fact that she knew Sloane on a friendly basis, something he hadn't thought possible. At his flummoxed look, she smiled. "Well, be seeing you..." she said in a soft voice, her voice trailing off as she walked away.  
  
He only stared after her in shock.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Shock that only increased when, an hour later, she and Sloane came out of his office, she smiling and looking like the cat that ate the canary, and Sloane beaming like a proud uncle. Which...she had seemed to say he was. The two walked unhurriedly to the conference room, and Sloane left her there. When he came out, he called, "Agent Vaughn? Come to the conference room, please."  
  
Vaughn was getting even more perplexed. What did this fascinating young woman have to do with him? He followed Sloane obediently. When the three of them were alone in the conference room, Sloane pushed the button which solidly closed the thick plastic wall-doors.  
  
"Michael Vaughn, I'd like you to meet Sydney Bristow," Sloane said, his oily voice doing its best imitation of pride and encouragement.  
  
Vaughn gaped. "Sydney Bristow as in---Jack Bristow?"  
  
Sydney smiled. "He's my father. We've been...somewhat estranged these past twelve years." Vaughn could tell by the way she didn't look him in the eye that there was more to it than that.  
  
Vaughn stood rock still as his mind raced. Jack had never told him he had a daughter. True, Jack never told him anything about his personal life, but Vaughn had thought that had been because Jack didn't have a personal life. Sloane seemed to be expecting him to speak, but Vaughn couldn't think of a single thing to say.  
  
Sloane frowned. "Since Dixon's unfortunate death, we've been looking for a replacement partner for you, Agent Vaughn. Sydney's it."  
  
Vaughn's eyes widened. *NO!* He had so hoped that now that Dixon had died- --*don't think about that, it'll only distract you*---he could work solo ops, which would give him the chance to betray SD-6 without a partner looking over his shoulder. Now, Sloane wanted him to work with this girl, who hadn't even worked for SD-6 two hours ago?  
  
"But, Mr. Sloane, I really feel that I'm ready to start taking solo missions," he protested desperately, ignoring the annoyed look Ms. Bristow shot at him.  
  
Sloane looked unconvinced. "You've proven your skills in the field time and again, Agent Vaughn," he said placatingly. "But that doesn't mean you're ready to go into the field without back-up. Sydney here is, from what I've heard, a terrific agent who can teach all of us here at SD-6 a thing or two about the spy business."  
  
Vaughn stared. From what he'd heard? What on earth did that mean? Sloane hadn't even seen her in action and he was going to foist her off on him? He hadn't even seen her, and he thought that she would be able to teach SD- 6 about the spy game?  
  
Sydney turned to Arvin. "Why don't you let me talk to him?" she asked. "I've been in enough situations with people I've been told were impressive but who turned out to be incompetent that I know how hard it is to just blindly trust your life to someone."  
  
Sloane looked like he was about to agree, but the last thing Vaughn wanted was to have a one-on-one discussion with this girl, if he could help it. He had the uneasy feeling of a mouse being examined by a cat waiting to pounce. He was afraid that if he gave her the chance to examine him, to really examine him, she would somehow be able to divine his true identity, and that was a risk he must not take.  
  
"That won't be necessary," he said curtly. "I don't doubt Agent Bristow's abilities. I just...am not quite comfortable with the idea of getting a new partner so soon after Dixon."  
  
Sloane nodded. "I understand that, Agent Vaughn, but I'm afraid I need you out in the field, and I'm not letting you out alone. I'm confident that you and Sydney will learn to work together."  
  
He nodded grudgingly. "Fine. Do you have a mission for us?"  
  
Sloane shook his head. "No. You're back early from your vacation, remember? I just thought that since you were here you'd like to be introduced to your new partner." He looked at Vaughn with those piercing eyes of his, which seemed to stare straight into his soul. "Sydney, would you leave us alone, please? I'd like to speak with Agent Vaughn."  
  
She frowned slightly in curiosity. "Sure. Actually, I need to go take care of my lodging situation anyways, so if you won't be needing me again today...?"  
  
He smiled. "No. Go ahead, get settled in. I'll see you tomorrow."  
  
She nodded. "Goodbye, Agent Vaughn."  
  
He mumbled something that sounded like "goodbye," watching as she left through the now-open doors. He then turned to face Sloane, who was watching him through narrowed eyes.  
  
"You should know, Agent Vaughn," he said in slow, deliberate tones, "that Sydney is very special to me. I look upon her almost as my own daughter. I do not doubt her skills as an agent; I think you'll be impressed. However, I would like to ask that you do your best to look out for her."  
  
Vaughn was once again caught off-guard. "Uh...of course. I mean, she's my partner, right? I'll defend her as I would any partner."  
  
"You'll defend her like you will Dixon, Agent Vaughn?" Sloane hissed. "I'm afraid that's not good enough."  
  
Vaughn told himself to take several deep breaths. Dixon's death had not been his fault. He knew that, had told himself that over and over again for the past week until he had almost convinced himself it was true. Dixon had gotten himself trapped in a place Vaughn couldn't possibly access, and his opponents had quickly and efficiently done away with him.  
  
"Very well, then, Mr. Sloane, I'll take better care of her than I did of Dixon. I can only promise to do my best." With that, without waiting to hear his boss's reply, he stormed out of the office, afraid that if he had to look at him one more minute he would reach over and strangle him.  
  
Sloane watched him go with a faraway expression. It had been a risk, blaming Vaughn for Dixon's death when he knew it wasn't true, but he had been right that blaming him would make him even more determined to see that his next partner was well-protected. And Sloane would go to any lengths to ensure that she was well protected.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Vaughn strode into the warehouse in which he and Weiss held all of their secret meetings. He had impatiently waited at home until he had gotten the "wrong number" phone call for Joey's Pizza which signified that they were to have a meet. Now, he stormed into the building, his whole body tense with anger. "Weiss, you will not believe this! I think Sloane was finally going to be willing to trust me on solo missions, which we both know would had made my life a helluva lot easier. Well, instead, he's decided to make some teenage girl who he 'looks upon as a daughter' my new partner. Isn't that grand?" He paused for breath, looking around for Weiss. His handler was never late.  
  
Suddenly he heard a sound from off to the side, behind a stack of crates. He spun around. "Why, hello to you, too, Agent Vaughn," came the sarcastic reply in a feminine voice he was getting to know all too well. 


	5. Respect

A/N: Well, here's Vaughn for y'all! Tell me what you think! I managed to include a little Sark, too...I might have a little Sarkney later on, lemme know what you all think! Keep up the awesome reviews!  
  
Quicker than thought, Vaughn grabbed the nearest crate and flung it at the voice. Hoping that that would buy him a few precious seconds, his hand instinctively reached for the gun that rested in its holster---when he was on missions. He cursed himself for his stubborn resistance to wearing a firearm when he was home in L.A. He looked desperately around for another weapon, and even while he unconsciously prepared for a fight, his conscious mind was wondering why she hadn't attacked him by now. His comments had been plenty of proof that he was working against SD-6; a loyal member of SD- 6, and an almost-daughter (the thought would have been enough to make him grimace in a different situation) of Arvin Sloane wouldn't hesitate to kill or capture him. *NO! It's not supposed to end this way!* After seeing the results of her combat with the guards earlier that day, he had no doubts that she could take him down, but he would never give up without a fight.  
  
As he grabbed another crate, his conscious mind screamed at him to think. She had definitely had the time to recover by now. And...where was she, by the way? He glanced desperately around trying to locate her, and he gasped when he found her standing right behind him. She appeared unarmed, but then, he remembered the damage she had done "unarmed" back at SD-6. He raised the crate menacingly, glaring at her as he took several slow steps toward her, his entire body tense for a fight. And she laughed. Laughed!  
  
"Relax, Agent Vaughn," she said, and her voice rang with mirth as she raised her hands palm-forward in a placating gesture. "I'm not here to blow your cover with SD-6. Devlin approved this meet."  
  
"Devlin..." So he hadn't betrayed himself. He hadn't been so lax that she had been able to follow him to the warehouse. Even as he had that thought, he gave himself a mental slap on the forehead. If she had followed him, how could she have gotten into the warehouse before him? If Devlin sent her... "You're CIA?" he asked incredulously. Could the CIA even recruit people as young as her to be agents?  
  
"Of sorts," she answered evasively. She was eyeing the crate in his hand. "Are you going to attack me with that? I won't fight you, if beating the crap out of me will prove to you that I'm not going to betray you." The laughter in her voice made him feel foolish for still menacing her with the crate. He was also intrigued by the a slightly discordant tone in her voice when she offered to let him hit her. It was as if she was joking, but she also seemed deadly serious. And, was that a flash of sorrow, guilt perhaps, in her eyes?  
  
He dropped the crate. "I don't suppose you have any identification?"  
  
Another voice boomed from the darkness, but this time from the direction of the entrance, indicating that the person speaking had just come in. "No, but would my word that she's working with us be enough?"  
  
"Jack?"  
  
"Dad? What are you doing here?"  
  
"Weiss didn't think you'd be convinced that she wasn't a threat just because she told you so. I volunteered to come and vouch for you, Sydney." There seemed to be more of a message behind the words than the simple fact that he had come to speak to Vaughn. It seemed as if the fact that he was volunteering to speak for her meant that he was on her side. Vaughn's supposition was confirmed when he saw the shine of moisture in Bristow's--- Sydney's---eyes.  
  
"Jack? What's going on here?" Vaughn demanded. He had already been through the emotional wringer today and the past few weeks, and he was sick and tired of feeling confused and lost. He wanted answers.  
  
Jack looked toward Sydney. "I'm just here to confirm that what Sydney tells you is the truth," he said. "The details are hers to tell."  
  
Vaughn stared at Sydney expectantly. She took a deep breath. "I have been an operative of The Man for the past year," she said. "Before that, I spent most of my life around spies. My mother is one. I recently had something of an epiphany when I learned of some of the terrible things she's done. I turned myself in to the CIA a week and a half ago because I want to help take down SD-6."  
  
"Why?" he interrupted. "I get that you would decide not to work for The Man any more, and that you'd turn yourself in to the CIA, but what does SD- 6 have to do with you? What's your stake in this?"  
  
She hesitated, and Vaughn half-expected her to look to her father for support. Instead, she stared him straight in the eye. "You fight with your heart and soul to bring down SD-6 because of what it did to your fiancée. That's why I think you'll understand how strong my stake in this when I tell you I've also had someone I care about hurt by SD-6. You don't need to know the details." With the direct eye contact she had forced upon him, Vaughn felt that he could see straight into her soul. He could see in her eyes the pain of being deceived, and the same determination that he used to get himself up every morning.  
  
Despite some very strong feelings of lingering trepidation, he forced himself to smile at her. He reached out his hand. "Nice to meet you, partner." She smiled at him, a small smile and he was startled when he felt an inner tug. He tried to shake off the feeling. This woman threw him totally off his guard; in the time he'd known her he'd insulted her and attacked her. She probably didn't like him, and he wasn't sure there were any reasons that had been made evident so far that he should like her. He finally forced off these distracting thoughts, but at that moment she shook his proffered hand. He felt a jolt go through his body, and was gratified when he saw a slight widening of her eyes that indicated that she had felt it too.  
  
"Nice to meet you, too," she said, in a marginally unsteady voice. She looked around at her surroundings. "Why don't we go somewhere else to talk?" she suggested. "After all, we all work at SD-6. They won't be suspicious seeing us together." Vaughn nodded in agreement, pleased that he would have the chance to ask more questions.  
  
Jack, on the other hand, shook his head no. "It would be better if we weren't all seen together," he said. "If they ever suspect any of us, it would be best if they have as few details as possible to link us together. You two go along, though. You're partners. You're expected to get to know each other."  
  
Vaughn watched as Sydney's face fell, and he felt that inner tug again. "All right," she said in a small voice. "I guess I'll be seeing you, then." He nodded perfunctorily at her, then at Vaughn, then he left.  
  
They stood there in silence for several moments before Vaughn broke the somber mood with a forced grin and a, "Well, I don't know about you, but I'm starved. Let's get something to eat."  
  
She smiled at him thankfully. "Sounds good, Agent Vaughn."  
  
"It's just Michael," he said with a grin. He wondered to himself about his strange, turbulent emotions. She smiled at him again, but this time it was that small smile that she had graced him with earlier. He found himself thinking irrationally that that smile was just for him.  
  
"Weiss calls you Mike," she pointed out.  
  
"That's because Weiss is a freak who doesn't listen to the pleading of his agent," Vaughn replied. "I'd hope that's not true for you!"  
  
She hesitated. Here in front of her was the man she had researched so much about, and who aroused such powerful emotions in her. She had studied him so long, almost as a test subject, that she couldn't imagine calling him by his given name. "I think I'll call you Vaughn," she said at last.  
  
He smiled to himself. Vaughn. It was almost like she had a pet name for him. *STOP* "Vaughn. I like it."  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
They sat in a crowded Starbucks enjoying some highly expensive but very tasty coffee. They hadn't spoken much since they arrived; Vaughn sipped patiently at his drink while Sydney seemed to be staring into space somewhere directly above his left shoulder.  
  
"So what was it like?" Vaughn asked. She snapped her gaze back from where she had been subtly gazing at his handsome face out of the corner of her eye.  
  
"What?"  
  
"What was it like, working for The Man?" he asked curiously.  
  
"It was intense. It was hard getting the job in the first place, convincing her to let me be an agent, but after that it was like I'd never have any free time again. Every week it was a new mission, all over the world. You know what it's like to be in a constant state of jet lag." He nodded. He knew all too well. "But it was also exhilarating. You're never so alive as when you're fighting for your life, or as when you think you're making great strides of good for what you believe in. Of course, there were bad days. Every spy gets caught sometimes, and I was no exception." She shuddered. "Anna Espinosa, do you know her?" He nodded again, this time wide-eyed. He and Anna had had plenty of unpleasant run- ins. She was vicious and ruthless. "She caught me off-guard about three months after I became an agent. The heads of K-Directorate were ecstatic; so far they had never had any leads as to the identity of The Man. Now they had one of her agents in their grasp."  
  
After she hadn't spoken for a minute or two, Vaughn prompted, "What happened?"  
  
"After two days my partner, Sark, came and rescued me." At the name "Sark," his eyebrows rose. Sark was known to be even more ruthless than Anna. He was also much higher up in the ranks of his organization than she was in hers. "A week in the hospital and I was fine."  
  
"What was it like working with Sark?" He had to know. He laughed inside; it would be an interesting transition having him as a partner after Sark.  
  
She leaned back in her chair. "That's a hard question. Sark is an enigma. He came to work for The Man when I was young; he took me under his wing, after my insistence. I never learned anything about his origins, it was like he just appeared out of nowhere. He taught me most of what I know about the spy trade. He's so hard to read, you know? It's hard to tell what he's thinking. Half the time I used to think that he saw me as a naïve, silly child. The other half I could almost have sworn..." her voice trailed off.  
  
"What?"  
  
"That he liked me. As in, liked me, liked me. It was strange, to say the least. Thinking that the man that I didn't really admire, but looked upon as a mentor, thought of me that way, was just...bizarre."  
  
"How much do Sark and Irina Derevko know about what you're doing now?" he asked.  
  
She grinned at that. "Why, they know all about it." At his startled look, she continued playfully, "They know all about how I learned that my father was actually alive all these years, how I'm very angry about that, how I decided to kill two birds with one stone; this way, I can return to Los Angeles to try to get to know my father, and I can continue my education."  
  
"Wait---you mean your spy education?"  
  
"No," she said, cocking her head to one side. "I'm going to USC starting in the fall."  
  
"Are you insane?" he demanded. "You're going to go to college at the same time as you work for SD-6?"  
  
"It shouldn't be that hard," she protested. "I continued going to school in Russia during my first year as an agent."  
  
He shook his head. "Every time I think I'm beginning to understand a little about you, you surprise me."  
  
She smiled false-modestly. "I do my best."  
  
"So Derevko and Sark just let you come here like that? Knowing that you were going to approach your father, who was CIA?"  
  
"Well, they didn't have much choice, did they? By this point they already knew The Man's identity, so I couldn't reveal that. Otherwise, they trusted me not to betray them."  
  
"Why? Why would they trust you to go free when you had such knowledge of their doings?"  
  
"Well, Sark trusts me because he thinks he knows everything about me; after all, he's been my friend and confidante for all these years. The Man has known me even longer. She looks at me as a daughter."  
  
He shook his head with an incredulous laugh. "What?" she asked with a smile.  
  
"Do all of the leaders of crime cells look upon you as a daughter? Sloane told me the same thing after you left."  
  
"What can I say?" she asked with a coquettish toss of her head, examining him from beneath her long eyelashes. "I'm lovable."  
  
*I'll say* he thought. She thought Sark was an enigma? She should take a closer look at herself!  
  
"Anyways, they know I'm available to help if they ever need me, so they didn't have to worry about losing a valuable asset. They'll know soon enough that I'm working for SD-6, and they'll probably keep tabs on me, but that's an acceptable risk."  
  
They kept talking; he told her about himself, how he had worked for SD-6 for four years now, ever since his freshman year in college. He told her about Alice. Then, she asked about Dixon.  
  
"Dixon was my partner ever since I became an agent," he said in a sad voice. "We were going after a Rambaldi manuscript in Argentina. I was down in a cave looking for the manuscript when I heard Dixon screaming at me to get out, that K-Directorate had found us. I looked up and found myself face-to-face with Anna Espinosa. She shot me, but I was wearing a bullet-proof jacket. I pursued her up a ladder, but fell when I was almost to the top. Somehow I managed to catch a leg on a rung. By the time I got to the top, it was all over. K-Directorate was gone with the manuscript, and Dixon was lying on the ground, his life blood seeping into the ground. He died in my arms." Vaughn was surprised to find the tears seeping out of his eyes. He didn't even know when he had started crying. He felt such a feeling of catharsis, confessing what had happened to Sydney.  
  
He had had to tell the people at SD-6 what had happened, of course. But he hadn't talked about it to someone who had just been there to listen to him. McCullough had listened, but mostly because he was looking for any flaw in his report, any sign that he was about to crack. Sydney listened because she cared.  
  
And it was because of that fact, not the fact that she could kick his butt without blinking, or the fact that she had to be the youngest, best agent in the business, or the fact that she was beautiful, that he felt the strong roots of respect and some other, affectionate feeling, taking hold in him. 


	6. Settling in

A/N: Well, how's this for another incredibly fast update? I'm so proud...anyways, it's your reviews that make me wanna update, so keep 'em coming!  
  
A/N 2: Here's some Marshall/Carrie for everyone like me who loved the last episode with Marshall and his kid!  
  
Sydney groaned as she stretched. The day was fading and she still hadn't found an apartment yet. After her meeting with Vaughn---*he's so sweet, and so broken over what happened to Dixon, God I hope I never have to grieve that way over him or Sark*---she had returned to SD-6 after being paged by Sloane. He had decided to test her on a solo op, just so she could "get a feel for working with SD-6." It should be a very simple op; she was to infiltrate a ball in France, where one of the guests would be wearing upon his person a key. She was to steal the key and hurry home.  
  
After her briefing with Sloane (he had ended with a "I'm so glad you've decided to work with us, Sydney, and I'm positive you'll do me proud. Good luck.") she had gone to see Marshall, SD-6's tech guy. He was definitely an interesting character. Somehow she had found herself trying to sit straight-backed in an inflatable chair sucking on a piece of candy as he stammered to her the details of her equipment.  
  
He held up a necklace: it was a thin, simple golden chain. "This looks like a normal necklace, right?" he asked. He didn't continue, and she was startled to realize that he actually expected an answer to his rhetorical question. She smiled at him encouragingly. "You know, the kind of thing a friend might get you for a present." He frowned. "Well, the kind of thing a girl friend would probably get, although, well, I'm a guy and I'm giving it to you, but I guess this doesn't really count as a present, does it, since it's really not decorative, and---"  
  
"Uh, Marshall?" she interrupted. He stopped talking. "What does it do, exactly?"  
  
"Oh! Right, that's what you want to know, isn't it, I'm sorry, it's just that I tend to get a little nervous meeting new people. Although, it's true that I probably talk a lot most of the time to other people, too---"  
  
"Marshall!"  
  
"Sorry! OK, this baby is a real piece of work. It's a high-powered transmitter crammed into those tiny golden links. Just speak normally, and anything you say should be transmitted all the way back to SD-6, to me, really, although I suppose Sloane will be here as well to guide you, but anyways, we should be able to understand you perfectly. Now, these are very nice, as well," he began, showing her a pair of golden earrings that matched the necklace.  
  
Before he could being another lengthy explanation, she said, "They're also high-powered receivers," she surmised, "which will allow me to hear whatever you say from back here."  
  
He grinned at her. "That's right! Yes, you took the words right out of my mouth."  
  
"I doubt that," she muttered.  
  
"What was that, Ms. Bristow?" he asked cheerfully.  
  
"Nothing," she said hurriedly. "Thanks, Marshall." She stood to leave, feeling her back protest the change in position after sitting so long in the strange chair. "Oh, and by the way, it's Sydney."  
  
* * * * * *  
  
After that encounter, she had gone to the USC track for her daily run. While there, she had met a very friendly young man named Will Tippin; he told her that he was going to be a junior at USC this year. He was planning to be a reporter. She told him that she was going to be a freshman, and that she worked part-time at a bank. He proved to be a useful resource; when she asked him about where she could go to find an apartment, he directed her to an announcement board on campus. It was obvious by the way he kept looking at her that he was romantically interested in her; however, since he made no moves to come on to her, she didn't shrug him off. Instead, they made plans to get together for coffee two days later.  
  
So now, here she was, stretching as she trudged her way up an insane number of steps on her way to view the announcement boards. She was so lost in her thoughts that she walked full-on into a young, pretty, black woman about her age, knocking both of them over.  
  
"I'm so sorry," Sydney gasped. "I'm such a klutz."  
  
"That's OK," the other responded as she picked herself up off the stairs. "I wasn't looking where I was going, either."  
  
They carefully stepped out of each other's way, heading in opposite directions.  
  
Sydney felt like cheering in relief when she immediately found an ad on the bulletin board advertising exactly what she wanted; well, mostly. It read "Female freshman looking for roommate to share apartment; apartment is located within a ten minute's walk of campus. Would appreciate roommate with sense of humor and enjoyment of parties and fun. Can discuss rates if interested. Contact Francie at..." and it went on to list a phone number. She quickly copied down the number. She wasn't sure she exactly qualified as a party gal, but she was open to the idea of trying to become one.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Sydney knocked on the door of the apartment that Francie had been advertising. She had called about an hour before-hand saying she was going to come by and have a look around.  
  
The door opened, and Sydney found herself face-to-face with the woman she had run into on the stairs. "Francie?" Sydney asked.  
  
Francie smiled broadly. "You're Sydney, right? Come in, come in," she ushered her inside.  
  
Sydney took in the inside of the apartment with something akin to awe. It was clear that Francie was just moving in to the apartment, since there were boxes strewn everywhere. However, it already had a very homey feel, from the clean kitchen with various diverse magnets covering the refrigerator to the comfy looking sofa and table in the living room area. Strangely, it reminded Sydney of her home in Russia.  
  
"Would you like to take a look around?" Francie asked. She hoped Sydney liked the house; they had already bumped into each other, after all, and just as she had seen Sydney at her clumsiest, so Sydney had seen her at her spaciness. And, from their conversation on the phone, Sydney seemed very nice. Francie thought they would get along grandly.  
  
Sydney smiled and nodded. "I love it already," she said.  
  
Twenty minutes later, they had settled on a price, and Sydney was prepared to bring her belongings over.  
  
Four hours after that, and Sydney felt almost at home in the apartment as she had in her mother's house. Only one day as a free woman, and Sydney had talked to her father, met and become friends with Michael Vaughn, learned about her first mission, endured a prolonged fifteen minutes in an inflatable chair, gone for a run on her new campus, met a nice, cute guy, found an apartment, moved in to the apartment, and become friends with Francie. *Not bad* she thought. *Not bad at all*.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Marshall walking with his usual ungainly stride into Tully's Coffee, eagerly anticipating his coffee fix for the night. He would need the stamina so he could be properly focused to spend most of the night designing his new and improved version of a game called Break Out. As he carefully carried the hot coffee---he had spilled it on himself once before, and he was definitely not planning on repeating that experience, let me tell you---he stumbled as he felt himself trip over someone's outstretched leg. He gasped as he felt the hot coffee immediately scald him.  
  
He looked up in time to see a young woman---to whom the leg belonged--- hurriedly pull of a pair of headphones. She leapt to her feet, grabbing him gently by the arm and helping him stand up.  
  
"I'm so sorry!" she gasped. "Oh my gosh, look, just sit at my table and I'll grab some napkins." Before Marshall could protest, she hurried away and he settled down at her table, looking down at his shirt, which was covered in coffee, and his arm, which had several angry red splotches forming on it. Three minutes later, the woman came back. She carried not only napkins, but a fresh caramel macchiato. She settled the latter on the table before helping him rub the former on his certainly-ruined shirt. "Are you all right?" she asked, looking up at him.  
  
He got his first good look at her, and was shocked to see tear stains on her cheeks. "I'm, uh, fine," he stammered. "Are you OK?" When she looked confused, he gestured to her cheeks. "You look like you've been crying. I, uh, hope it's not because of me."  
  
She smiled. "No, no, it's not your fault." She pointed at her CD player which was still lying unobtrusively on the table. "It's Joni Mitchell. She always makes me cry, she makes me feel so fatalistic."  
  
"Oh." Marshall didn't know what to say to that. "Well, don't worry, I won't tell anyone!"  
  
She laughed. "Good. I listen to her at work sometimes; I could get in trouble."  
  
"Really? Wh---Where do you work? Do they have really strict rules?"  
  
"You could say that," she replied slowly, as if afraid that she was going to frighten him off. "You see, I work for the government."  
  
His eyes widened. "Reeeaaally." He drew the word out. "Which department?"  
  
"The NSC."  
  
He grinned. "That's great! We have so much in common!" Seeing her raised eyebrow, he explained, "Well, we both like Tully's, and, uh, you work for the government, and I work for...uh...a bank."  
  
She laughed. "You're sweet, you know that? I'm Carrie Bowman," she introduced herself.  
  
He grinned at her. *I'm sweet*! "Uh, F-Flinkman," he said. "Marshall Flinkman."  
  
They beamed at each other, and in perfect unison took sips of their drinks, the napkins on the table as forgotten as Marshall's burns.department?" out. government."at she was going to frighten him off. le. heeks. -ruined shirt.o. shirt, which was covered I Break Out was going to have to wait. 


	7. First mission

A/N: OK, I've taken some French in high school, but I don't remember it that well, so I'm sorry if I've translated anything wrong! If anyone cares to tell me how it should be written, feel free. However, the content isn't really very important, so don't worry that I don't include the English translation!  
  
A/N 2: I'm on a roll today, huh?  
  
Sydney let herself into the bloodvan, wondering what her handler would be like. According to Devlin, there had been a "shortage" of good handlers recently. While she hadn't really understood the comment, the pointed look Devlin shot her father was informative. The sight she was met with was not encouraging.  
  
He was an obnoxious-looking balding man with a sick smile on his face. "Come in, come in," he urged, his smile obviously meant to be ingratiating. "I'm Agent Lambert, I'm going to be your handler."  
  
*Duh* she thought.  
  
"As your handler, it will be my job to analyze the missions you've been assigned and to assign you counter-missions. You'll report to me when the missions are over."  
  
"I know what handlers do, Agent Lambert," she fought to keep the snarl out of her voice.  
  
He glared at her angrily. "You're too much like your father, Agent Bristow. I'm your handler. I outrank you. That means you show me respect."  
  
She rolled her eyes. "I don't know my father very well, Lambert, but if he's made such an impression on you I like him better already. Let me make one thing very clear to you. You may outrank whatever rank the CIA has deigned to give me. However, I only offer respect to people who deserve it- --not old men who only have their ranks because they've been around so long they either have to be fired or promoted." She took a deep breath. "That said, I'll try to give you the chance to prove yourself."  
  
The smile was back, making her feel queasy. "My mission is to retrieve a key from a French multi-millionaire at his ball. Sloane didn't tell me what the key is for."  
  
He nodded. "Your counter-mission will be simple, then. You'll just give the key to the CIA and tell Sloane that you were unable to obtain it."  
  
She stared at him incredulously. "Please tell me you're not really this stupid. This is a simple mission. Sloane already knows that I was The Man's top agent; do you really think that he'll believe that I was unable to steal a key from an unsuspecting man?" He was getting angry again, but before he could open his mouth to speak, she said, "I'll tell you how it's going to be. My counter-mission is this: I'll retrieve the key as directed. You will have men stationed at the airport. We'll make a simple brush-pass at the gate; I'll give one of your men the key, and in the time from when I leave the gate to when I get to the taxi you will copy the key and return the original to me. Is that clear?"  
  
He nodded dumbly.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Sydney sauntered in to the ball as if she owned the palatial mansion in which it was being held. She was beautiful, in a long, flowing orange gown that only someone with her coloring could wear, her only concession to jewelry the attractive necklace and matching earrings. She flashed a smile at the lecherous old man who was currently holding her arm; he had, after all, been her ticket into the ball. That should earn him some kudos. *But only so many* she thought angrily as she felt his hand slide down her back. She quickly jerked away.  
  
"Pardonnez-moi, monsieur," she said quickly. "Je dois aller aux toilettes; je vais retourner plutot."  
  
He smiled at her. "Oui, mademoiselle. Je vais parler avec toi après tu retourneras."  
  
She hurriedly slipped away, resisting the urge to rub her arm where she felt the slime of his touch remaining. "Jerk," she muttered under her breath. After removing herself from his line of vision, she scanned the room. The huge room was full of men and women in formal dress, mostly clustered in groups to chat. One man caught her glance, and at first, she thought that it was because he was the man she had been sent to find. Then she realized that she knew him on a much more intimate level than just a picture she had seen several times. "Sark." As if he heard her whisper, he turned slowly towards her. It didn't occur to her to hide from him as his eyes came to rest on her. His eyes widened and his lips twitched in a smile of amusement and greeting. He raised his champagne to her in a mock toast.  
  
She grinned at him. This was one of those moments when she suspected that Sark cared for her as more than just her mentor. She was clearly here trying to get the same thing he was, and yet he greeted her in a friendly manner, not at all upset that she was here working against him. She lifted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter's tray, and raised it to Sark in a return salute.  
  
She then continued her scan of the room. Her eyes alighted on an impeccably-dressed man whose face was familiar to her, but only because she had so closely examined it on the flight to France. "Target acquired," she murmured into her necklace.  
  
She clearly heard the voice from her earrings, "Very well, Bluebird, carry on."  
  
"Aye aye, cap'n," she murmured. She made a beeline toward the man, still carrying the champagne. When she was five steps from him, she made herself trip. She fell at his feet in something of a flying leap, splattering her champagne on both his shoes and her dress. "Oops," she said in a high- pitch voice. "I'm so sorry, sir! I'm just so clumsy in these heels, and your champagne's so tasty I just couldn't stop drinking it!"  
  
He frowned down at her before he crouched to help her to her feet. "You are une americaine?" he asked, his French accent strong.  
  
"Yes," she said with a tipsy smile. "I just loooove your country. It's so pretty, and this is such a nice mansion." She flung her arms wide in an expansive gesture before suddenly wobbling. She fell against his chest, and the sudden "oomph" that her weight forced out of him showed that he didn't notice her hand sneaking in and out of his inner jacket pocket. "Except for the spinning," she mumbled. "Can you stop the spinning?" He shoved her away from him. Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, God, I'm gonna be sick," she cried. He hastily pointed the way to the bathroom, and she hurried off.  
  
"Base-ops, I have the key," she said. "I'm on my way out."  
  
"Well done, Sydney," she heard Sloane's proud voice in her ear. "Come on home."  
  
She had just exited the building when she felt a hand place itself lightly on her arm. She tensed almost imperceptibly, turning. She felt a grin cross her face. "Sark!" She gave him a quick hug.  
  
He smiled that pert, charming, obnoxious smirk at her. "Hello, love," he said, quickly returning the hug. "That was well-done back there. " He jerked his head in the general direction of the ballroom.  
  
"Well, I was taught by the master."  
  
He grinned. "I must admit, I never taught you to wear a dress like that." He waggled his fingers and eyebrows at her in an exaggerated expression to show that he found her alluring. She laughed and punched him lightly in the arm.  
  
"Thank God for that," she said.  
  
They started walking until they were some distance away from the mansion. "Although I must admit a ball in France wasn't the first place I was planning on seeing you after you left for USC. Now, Syd, you are going to give me the key, aren't you?"  
  
She heard the swift intake of breath in her ear from either Sloane or Marshall---probably Sloane---and she recalled that they were listening to everything she said. "Now, Sark, why would I do that?" she asked playfully. "I did all the hard work." She subtly motioned towards the necklace and earrings, showing him that someone was listening to their conversation.  
  
He nodded his understanding, then quickly began using sign language even as he continued his oral conversation. "Well, that's too bad, love, because I really need that key." -Who's listening?-  
  
"I'm afraid I need it more, Sark." –Arvin Sloane-  
  
"I don't want to fight you, Syd." –What the hell? God, Sydney...-  
  
"Funny; I don't want to fight you either." –I know, I know. Can we talk about that later? If I give you the key, will you make a copy and give me the original before my flight?-  
  
"Then we are at an impasse." –That's what I like about you, Sydney. You're so good at compromises.-  
  
-Is that a yes?-  
  
-Yes.-  
  
She gave a half-laugh, even as she silently slipped the key from her bodice and handed it to him. "Ah, Sark, you've always known my weakness for Princess Bride quotes. And you know what that quote leads to..." –I'll be at the Ritz in Paris tomorrow at 8 a.m. I need it back by then.-  
  
"Yes, yes, and I know that I could never beat you in a game of wits, Ms. Bristow. Keep the toy, then. I'll find another way." -You know you can trust me, even if you are working for the enemy.- He leaned towards her. "Goodbye for now, Sydney," he whispered. She could feel his sweet breath on her face. He gave her a quick kiss, full on the lips, pulling back before she had the chance to relax. He smirked at her astonished expression.  
  
She shook off the feelings that were rushing through her---shock, joy, worry, anger, fear, happiness---and glared at him. "So long, Sark," she snarled, although he could tell by the confusion in her eyes that she wasn't really angry with him. –Give my regards to my mother.-  
  
He smirked at her once again, then turned and walked away.  
  
"Well," Sloane breathed in her ear, "That was interesting. Once again, Sydney, well done, and I'll see you tomorrow." She waited until she was inside the limousine she had hired and it was driving away before she removed the necklace and earrings. She sighed as she relaxed into the comfortable seats. Now she could just wait and hope that Sark kept true to his words. Somehow, and her lips tingled at the thought, after that kiss she expected that he would.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
There was a light knock on her door, and she peered out through the peep- hole before letting him in. He looked around. "The room's clean," she told him.  
  
"Sydney, what's going on?" he demanded. He looked so cute when he was angry. "The last thing you told us was that you had decided to go to Los Angeles to enroll in USC and get to know your father; now you're working for SD-6?"  
  
She sighed tiredly. "Look, I gave you the key, didn't I?" He nodded reluctantly. "That should be proof enough for you that I'm not working against you."  
  
"Sydney, what are you doing? I can understand you needing a break from working for your mother after you learned some of the things she's done, but how does running to an equally-evil organization and man make things better?" He reached over to put an arm around her shoulders. "You know I care about you, love. I want to know what's happening with you."  
  
"You're right that learning about my mother hasn't made me want to work with SD-6," she told him. "In fact, I'm working to bring SD-6 down." At those words, he started shaking his head.  
  
"Oh, no, Sydney, you didn't..."  
  
"I'm working with the CIA to bring SD-6 down."  
  
Sark felt like crying. She had betrayed them! She had gone to work for the CIA, the people who wanted them all dead or behind bars. Seeing the stricken look on his face, she hurried to reassure him, "Look, Sark, I haven't told them anything they didn't already know, except for the fact that I am Irina Derevko's daughter."  
  
He shook his head. "This is madness. Utter foolishness. What was going through your head?"  
  
She shrugged. "I just needed to get away. And I really am going to USC," she informed him. "Besides, you and Mom must have known that getting to know my father also meant getting involved with the CIA."  
  
"Yes, but that didn't mean that we expected you to work with the CIA, or to tell them about your mother's identity."  
  
"Well, I'm sorry if I've surprised you," she told him seriously. "I just...I can't be satisfied just doing class work, you know? I have to be doing something more important, something that will make a difference. SD- 6 was conveniently located for that need." She looked at her watch. "I have to go," she said.  
  
"Very well," he sighed. He pulled her into another hug. While they were still pressed together, he looked deeply into her eyes. "Sydney, love, you know I'm here for you. Your mother loves you, too. Please, just remember that we want you to come home." He slid the key into the front pocket of her jacket, pulling away and leaving before she could respond.  
  
*She loves me, too?*  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Will Tippen glanced at his watch and sighed. Sydney---that was such a nice name---had seemed like such a nice person. She hadn't seemed like the type to stand someone up after making a date---no, not a date, he reminded himself---with them. Yet here he was, still waiting, and she was a half hour late. He was just about to get up and leave when he heard the door of the café open. He looked up, and saw her enter. She was beautiful, he marveled. She had looked great yesterday, sweaty as she was after her run, and she looked beautiful now, after a shower and dressed in formal clothes for work.  
  
She spotted him and hurried over to him. "I am so sorry," she told him.  
  
"That's OK," he said as he stood, pulling a seat out for her.  
  
She flashed a smile at him, and he felt his heart melt. "Such a gentleman," she said approvingly. "Anyways, I apologize again for being so late. I had to go on an emergency business trip for the bank yesterday and I just had time to get back and take a shower before I got here."  
  
He frowned. "Well, hey, you had my cell number, we could've just rescheduled. You must be exhausted!"  
  
She smiled again. "I am, but not too exhausted to have a cup of coffee with a friend."  
  
He smiled back. "Is that what I am? Are we friends?"  
  
"I should hope so!"  
  
"Me too."  
  
"Good."  
  
"Good."  
  
They had a good time chatting and getting to know each other, and by the end of the hour they had made a plan for him to come to her apartment the next day to have dinner and meet her roommate.  
  
As they stood to leave, she noticed a familiar face from the corner of her eye. She grinned. "Hey, I'll see you tomorrow, OK?" she asked. When he looked confused, she explained, "I just saw someone I know; he's my associate at the bank. I'm gonna go say hi."  
  
He looked in the direction she was looking and felt a stab of jealousy when he saw a handsome young man in a suit. "OK," he said. "I guess I'll see you, then." And as she walked away, he realized he hadn't asked the question that had been bugging him since she sat down. Did banks have emergency business trips?  
  
* * * * * *  
  
"Vaughn! Hey!" Sydney called.  
  
He turned around, a wide smile of greeting on his face. "Hey," he said. "What are you doing here?" He felt silly the moment he said it. This was a café; there were only so many things she could be here to do.  
  
"I was meeting a friend," she explained, gesturing to a man who was walking to the exit. Vaughn felt a stab of jealousy which he quickly suppressed. "I was about to leave, but I saw you and thought I'd say hi."  
  
He smiled. "Hi."  
  
"Hi."  
  
"So, how'd your mission go?"  
  
"I have one question," she said. When he raised his eyebrows, she continued, "Why do you get Weiss and I have to have Lambert?"  
  
He laughed. "Is he that bad?"  
  
"Worse," she retorted. Then she looked at him with that reserved-for-him smile. "At least he follows orders well," she said thoughtfully.  
  
He choked on his coffee. After coughing for a minute, he asked, "He follows orders? Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?"  
  
She laughed. "I have a problem with authority," she admitted. "Anyway, the brush-pass went off without a hitch. SD-6 has the key, but so does the CIA." *And The Man* she said in her head.  
  
She looked at her watch, then at the door. "Well," she said reluctantly, "I need to go. Francie's expecting me home for dinner."  
  
"Francie?"  
  
She grinned. "My new roommate. Turns out she had the perfect apartment; I'm in love with it."  
  
He grinned back. "All right. I'll see you at work tomorrow?"  
  
"Of course," she said. "Goodbye, Vaughn."  
  
"'Bye, Sydney."  
  
He watched her go with a faraway look in his eyes. 


	8. No way

A/N: Hi, all! Sorry it's been a while since my last update; finals week is finally over, so I actually have time to write! Thanks for the reviews, and keep coming with them!  
  
A/N: Also, keep coming with the votes about Sark vs. Vaughn...so far, there's more Sark votes than Vaughn votes, so let's see those Vaughn-lovers come to his rescue!  
  
A/N: Sorry that this chapter is kinda filler, but I'm a little stuck with how things will proceed. Have faith that I haven't given up!  
  
"Hey, man," Weiss greeted Vaughn as he entered the warehouse. Weiss was perched on a crate reading a worn copy of The Princess Bride. Sydney had started rubbing off on him. He still couldn't get over the contradictions of a young spy who acted years older than her actual age, who was utterly obsessed with such a book. Not that it wasn't a good book, since it was, but still...  
  
"Hi, Weiss, how's it going?" Vaughn returned, smiling at his friend---one of the few people he could be totally honest with.  
  
Weiss laughed. "Great. I had to listen to Lambert whine all day today. Kept complaining about how his agent's such a handful. They put his office next to mine, you know, since we're both handlers for double agents in SD- 6," he said mournfully.  
  
"Well, if it's any consolation, I'm not going to whine at you about her," Vaughn said, a faraway look in his eyes and a slight smile playing on his face.  
  
Weiss studied him for a moment before his eyes widened in shock. He sprang off the crate. "No way!" he shouted. "You are NOT falling for Sydney Bristow, are you, Mike?"  
  
Vaughn looked defensive, and startled by the accusation. "Um...of course not. You know I haven't been seeing anyone since Alice died, and I intend to keep it that way."  
  
Weiss shook his head. "That's not what I meant. You know that I think you need to move on with your life; I'm sure Alice would say the same thing. I just don't think Sydney's the one you should move on with."  
  
He frowned. He had been getting a strange vibe from Weiss since he had met Sydney. He also had the feeling that Devlin was hiding something from him. And Jack, well, he could never read Jack. "Why? Is there something you're not telling me? Obviously Devlin trusts her somewhat, since he's using her as a double agent. Jack trusts her, too, probably since she's his daughter." He paused. "Heck, I thought you trusted her. I know she worked for the wrong side, Eric, but I don't think we should totally ostracize her for it, now that she's working with us."  
  
Weiss was shaking his head again. "Wow. You've already rationalized this whole thing to yourself, haven't you, Mike? And whether we're hiding anything from you... any secrets about Sydney's life are hers to tell, not mine. I just don't think you should let yourself fall for her when you don't even know her. Plus, she's your SD-6 partner, and you know what Sloane thinks about romantic entanglements in the workplace."  
  
Vaughn put up his hands in a placating gesture. "Slow down, man! Any feelings I may have for Sydney Bristow---" Weiss smirked "---not that I'm saying I have any, are strictly platonic. I don't even know how she feels about me, and we are certainly not on the verge of starting a relationship."  
  
Weiss frowned. "Whatever you need to tell yourself. Just don't let yourself get in too deep until you and she've had a long, serious conversation." And, despite Vaughn's promptings, he refused to tell him more than that. "So, where's Sloane sending you now?" Weiss inquired, trying to get the secret meeting back on the right footing.  
  
"Actually, it's funny that you're talking about how we should get to know each other better. Sloane's sending us to an exotic island where he thinks Enini Hassan has hidden out. We're to pose as newly-weds enjoying the location as we try to find him. Should give us a good opportunity to 'have a long, serious conversation,' shouldn't it?"  
  
Weiss ignored that last bit. "Hassan, huh? Well, as usual, the CIA needs to know the same thing, although I have a feeling that Sloane's actions when he learns Hassan's location will be a bit more bloody than the CIA's. Sloane's planning on you taking photos?" At Vaughn's nod, he continued, "So just make copies of the negatives before you give them to SD-6. Hopefully we'll be able to move on the intel before SD-6 does. Any questions?"  
  
Vaughn shook his head. "All right, then, I'll see you when you get back."  
  
"Weiss," Vaughn said, a warning note in his voice. "I will find out what you're hiding from me."  
  
Weiss smiled sadly. "I know you will, Mike. I just don't want to see you get hurt."  
  
* * * * * *  
  
"Marshall, hey!" Sydney said, a bright smile lighting up her angular face.  
  
He turned around in surprise, clearly startled. "Oh, Miss---uh, Sydney. Hi."  
  
He stood there looking lost for a minute before Sydney prompted, "I'm here to get the tech for the next mission, remember?"  
  
"Right! Of course, sorry, wow, my head's just really in the clouds today, but, I mean..."  
  
She frowned slightly, head cocked to one side. Suddenly her face broke into another smile. "That's a nice outfit you've got on there, Marshall," she said slowly, taking in his pressed sweater and khakis. "Could it be possible that you have a date tonight?"  
  
He gulped. "Date? Does it have to be a date when you, uh, go out, uh, with this amazing woman...did I just say that? I mean, uh..."  
  
"Marshall." Sydney stopped him. "That's great!" Sydney hadn't known him very long, only a few days, but she could tell by his mannerisms that for him a date was a huge thing. "You'll knock her dead. What's her name?"  
  
"Uh, Carrie," he said in a conspiratorial whisper. "She works at the NSA."  
  
He didn't notice the way her eyes shot up in alarm at that. He looked like he was about to say more about his new girlfriend when she broke in, "So what do you have for Vaughn and me for this mission?"  
  
He grinned. "So, you're going to this gorgeous, super-swank island to look for Hassan, right? So Sloane really wants pictures of Hassan in his natural habitat, so to speak, so I cooked you up these." He flourished a pair of sunglasses at her. "Not only do they take pictures," he demonstrated, "But..." he put them on, the glasses looking ridiculous on him, "They're super-swank."  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Dad! Hey," Sydney smiled at him as he turned around at the sound of her voice. His face slowly developed a smile; it was an unusual expression for him, but somehow, now, it seemed fitting on his face.  
  
"Sydney, how are you?"  
  
"Fine, fine," she said, cringing at how stilted they both sounded. True, they were new to this whole father-daughter relationship, but she hoped they wouldn't always sound like acquaintances making polite small-talk. "You?"  
  
"Fine."  
  
"Oh. Good. Can we talk?" She gestured with her head toward the empty conference room. He nodded, and once they were safely ensconced, he pulled out a pen, pulled of the cap, and twisted the tip.  
  
"We have 60 seconds. What's wrong?"  
  
"Well, this wasn't what I was originally going to talk to you about, but Marshall has a new girlfriend, and she works at the NSA. Is that going to be a problem for him, I mean, with Sloane's security and everything?"  
  
Jack blinked. "Marshall has a girlfriend?" He shook his head as if to break himself out of a stupefied trance. "There shouldn't be a problem," he told her. "The NSA is a completely different type of organization than what SD-6 claims to be, so there shouldn't be any overlap; their jobs should never come into conflict in such a way that there would be any danger for either of them. Now, if he had met someone from the real CIA, that would be a different case, as I'm sure you know."  
  
Sydney breathed a sigh of relief. "That's good to know. Marshall's a strange person, but there's something lovable about him."  
  
Jack looked at his watch. "Ten seconds."  
  
"I was also wondering if, maybe, you'd like to go to dinner after I get back from my next mission? It would give us the chance to talk."  
  
He looked uncomfortable, but he knew there was only one answer he could give. "That would be...nice," he told her. "We can plan it when you get back." A loud beeping noise announced that their time was up. "Well," he said, standing, "I think that wraps that up."  
  
She smiled, going along with his ruse that they had been talking about a mission. "Thanks for meeting with me," she said.  
  
"I'll see you when you get back," he said, and he stood there for several long seconds, watching her go.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Sydney answered the door almost immediately after Will's knock, allowing him into the apartment. "Hey," she said with a grin.  
  
"Hey," he smiled back at her.  
  
"Hey!" Came the call from the kitchen. Will raised his eyes past Sydney to look at the young woman busily cooking a delicious-smelling sauce. "You must be Will," she said, wiping her hands on her apron and coming around to shake hands with him. "I'm Francie. Sydney's told me all about you."  
  
He smiled even more broadly, even as Sydney protested, "There wasn't much to say, Francie! I barely know him yet! That's why we're all having dinner, remember?"  
  
Francie rolled her eyes. "Well, he's the only guy you've told me anything about, so I think it's safe to say you know him as well as you know me, or anybody else I've had contact with. Seriously, girl, don't you ever get out to clubs?"  
  
Will broke in, his smile still bright, especially after hearing that he was the only guy Sydney had talked about, "What about that guy at the coffee shop?"  
  
"Vaughn?" Sydney asked, surprised. "I barely know him. He's my associate at work, that's all."  
  
"Now about that work," Will said speculatively, "I wanted to ask you yesterday, what kind of emergency trips does a bank send someone on?"  
  
"One of our clients in Seattle who I've dealt with before suddenly experienced extreme reluctance to continue his account with us. I had to go convince him otherwise."  
  
"But, see, what I don't get," Francie protested, "Is why they'd send someone as young and, forgive me, inexperienced to deal with an important client. I mean, you've only worked there for a few days, right? I'm already beginning to think you should quit and become a waitress or something. I mean, it's really hard juggling school and a serious job."  
  
"Well, I've had a lot of experience," Syd explained. "I started working in banking pretty early in high school, and I found I have a passion for it." She looked back and forth between them. "Maybe it was a mistake introducing you two. What is this, anyway? Attack Sydney day?"  
  
They all laughed at that, and only minutes later Francie announced that dinner was ready.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Jack sighed as he stuck his key into the lock. Work seemed even more stressful than usual, now that Sydney was back. Every day now he was just sure he was going to be attacked by some new surprise. Plus, there was the added stress of knowing that his very-much-alive daughter was being sent on missions that could claim her life, all because she felt like she had to make up for the fact that Laura---no, her name is Irina, get it right---was a traitorous, heartless killer.  
  
He stiffened as he walked through the door, all senses on alert. For the past twelve years, he had been the only person in his house. Tonight, though, something felt different.  
  
"Hello, Jack."  
  
Jack hated himself for the fact that his first response to that voice was, "Laura?" He made up for that slip slightly by making his next action a very subtle reach for the gun that lived eternally at his hip. He aimed it at the woman he used to love as she sat casually on his couch, facing him, as he considered his options. There was no way he could call in a team to take her before she could escape.  
  
"You don't need that, Jack," she said, her voice the same as he remembered from all those years ago. "I'm not here to harm you."  
  
"Why are you here, Irina?" he asked cautiously, even as he kept his gun out and aimed. She was slippery and deceitful, he knew that, and he wasn't planning on being caught by her trap again.  
  
"You look well," she said. "The past years have been good to you."  
  
"Why are you here?" he repeated, not bothering to keep the growl out of his voice.  
  
"Why do you think, Jack?" she replied, barely able to keep herself from juvenilely rolling her eyes. "My daughter."  
  
"She's my daughter, too," he said, eyes narrowed. "Despite your best attempts to the contrary."  
  
She shrugged. "Semantics. Whatever you might want to say, Jack, we both know that I'm the one who raised her. I'm the real parent here."  
  
"Yes," he said snidely, "and I've often wondered the past few days how a woman like you could raise such a wonderful woman."  
  
She had to force herself not to flinch at the tone in his voice. "I'm here to make sure that all of that wonderful raising is not about to be wasted in a colossally stupid way by allowing her to risk her life for the CIA."  
  
"Singing a different tune now, aren't you, Laura, from when you used to tell me you were so proud to have a husband in the CIA?" he spat. Usually, he was so calm and controlled. Facing her, though, he could only verbally attack her in an attempt to hide the hurt he had felt at her hands.  
  
"That's neither here nor there," she said coolly. "I intend to do my best to talk Sydney into returning to Russia. However, should that not work, I expect you to keep her safe, Jack."  
  
"She's my daughter," Jack said stiffly. "I will do anything to protect her." He narrowed his eyes at her as he took several menacing steps in her direction. "And, in that respect, know this: if you do anything that causes her harm, no matter where you hide, I will hunt you down and kill you."  
  
She smiled at him then, although it didn't reach her eyes. Hers was the smile of the lion before the pounce. "You took the words right out of my mouth, Jack."  
  
Their eyes locked for one long moment of complete agreement before she leapt out of her chair, sweeping past him to the door. He half-heartedly waved his gun at her in a threat as she left, but she didn't even acknowledge that. After he listened to the soft click of the door shutting behind her, he sank down onto the couch she had just been sitting on, feeling for all the world like a lost little boy. He inhaled deeply. She still wore the same perfume.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Michael Vaughn stood over his fiancée, Alice's, grave, holding a bunch of beautiful roses in his hand. "It's me again," he said softly, letting his gaze rest on the graceful engraved tombstone. "I know I already visited this week, but I guess I needed to talk to someone, and you were always someone I could talk to." He sat down next to the grave, not caring as his suit was soaked from the dew on the grass. "I met this girl the other day. Sydney. She's my new partner, and we hit it off really well. I think she likes me, and, well, I like her, too." He was crying now, the tears flowing down his face unheeded. "Is that wrong? Do you hate me for moving on, Alice, or do you want me to? God, I loved you so much," he whispered. "And I miss you...But I can't keep living my life this way, with revenge the only thing I care about. I'll always love you, Alice, but if Sydney is willing to be the new person in my life...I won't turn her away." He stood slowly, placing the roses on her grave as always, and leaning in to kiss the tombstone as he always did. Yet, this time the kiss meant something different. Instead of symbolizing the grief and unhappiness he always felt, this kiss was a kiss goodbye. A kiss preparing him for a new beginning. 


	9. What a pleasant surprise

A/N: Here's update number 2 of spring break (even though it's almost over). I must say, I'm an avid SV shipper, so I appreciate all the votes that are coming in. Keep coming with them, and the reviews, which are what inspire me to write! Constructive criticism is welcome!  
  
"Sydney, wake up!" a low voice hissed.  
  
"Mummy?" the six year old girl turned toward the sound of her mother's voice, rubbing her eyes sleepily and feeling vaguely perplexed. The first thing she noticed was that it was very dark. The second thing that she realized was that she wasn't in her room. They were driving very fast down a highway. Her mummy, usually the picture of serenity and peace, was driving frantically, her hands gripping the steering wheel so tight her knuckles were white. Tears streamed down her face. Seeing her mother so distraught was enough to make Sydney start to cry, and she did, loud gasping sobs that reflected her distress and fear.  
  
"Sydney, you need to listen very closely to what I'm going to tell you," Laura Bristow told her daughter, even as she felt tears leak down her own face.  
  
"Where's Daddy?" Sydney demanded, because she had only just realized that her daddy wasn't in the car with her.  
  
"Honey...Daddy got hurt today. Daddy's gone to Heaven, Sydney." Laura was surprised by the long silence that greeted her words, and she looked at her daughter worriedly. All the blood had drained from the young girl's face, and she was staring straight ahead, her tears drying unnoticed on her cheeks. Her throat worked, but for a long time no sounds came out.  
  
Finally, she asked, "Are...are we going to go to Heaven to be with Daddy, Mummy?"  
  
"No, sweetie," Laura soothed, knowing that Sydney's shock at what she had just been told foretold extreme emotional trauma. "But we are going to make it look like we went to Heaven." She pulled the car into an abandoned parking lot. She climbed out, but before Sydney could begin to wonder where she had gone, she was back, bearing an oxygen tank. "Sydney, I need you to put this on," she said, indicating that Sydney was to place the respirator in her mouth. "No matter what, you can't let go." Laura took out a length of extremely durable rope, tying them together at the waist. "Look, Sydney," she said, feeling the tears continuing the well-worn path down her face, "this is so we won't get separated, see?" Sydney nodded slightly, her eyes distraught above the oxygen mask. "OK. This is going to be very scary, Sydney, but we're going to be all right, I promise. Do you trust me?"  
  
Sydney nodded vehemently. She didn't know what was going on, she was scared, and she already missed her daddy, but that was one question that would always have the same answer. She loved and trusted her mummy with all her heart.  
  
Laura took a deep breath. "All right." She climbed back into the driver's seat, taking off again at a fast pace. Sydney barely had time to wonder what was going to happen before her mother suddenly swerved, driving the car through a railing and down...down...down...  
  
And Laura and Sydney Bristow died.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
"Sydney, wake up!" The words that echoed those of her mother's sounded loudly in Sydney's ear as she was gently shaken awake. This time, however, they were spoken in a concerned male tone of voice.  
  
She opened her eyes, instantly alert, her quick awakening so unlike the one from her childhood. She took in her surroundings; she was reclined on a comfortable chair in first class on an airplane. Vaughn was sitting next to her, although right now he was leaning over her, looking worried. For a moment her imagination superimposed Sark's face over his, as she remembered the many times Sark had been the one to rescue her from her nightmares. Then she frowned, and Vaughn's face was his own again.  
  
"Vaughn?" she asked, her voice raspy.  
  
"Here," he said, handing her a water bottle he had handy. She took several deep drinks, savoring the sweetness of the water. She raised an eyebrow at his offering, and he shrugged. "I get nightmares on trips, sometimes. Helps to have water nearby."  
  
"Thanks," she said. She surreptitiously wiped her tears off her cheeks before returning her chair to the upright position. "How'd you know I was having a nightmare?"  
  
"You were thrashing. Plus, you were making little whimpering noises." He smiled kindly at her.  
  
She felt the blood rush into her face. "I wasn't really?"  
  
He grinned. "Don't worry, it was kind of cute." As soon as he said it, he regretted it. Cute? Had he really just told her she was cute? "Uh..." Say something else, you idiot! "What were you dreaming about?"  
  
She looked down at her tightly clasped hands. "The night my mother told me my father was dead and faked both our deaths," she said quietly. "Every time I dream it, I have to relive the moment when she told me that daddy had gone to Heaven, and we weren't going with."  
  
Vaughn slowly placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. "It might not be much comfort to you," he said, "but I'm here to talk about it if you want to. I've found it's easier to talk to people who've gone through similar experiences."  
  
She gazed at him shyly. "Where were you when you found out your father had died?"  
  
"I was eight," he said sadly. "My mom and I were at home eating dinner, because my dad wasn't supposed to be home until late that night, since he was just getting back from a mission. Except, when someone did come to our door, it wasn't my dad. It was an old man in a suit, and he told me that my father was never going to come home."  
  
"Were you and your father really close?"  
  
He smiled fondly at the memory. "Very. I admired him so much, he was my hero. We used to spend all our spare time playing hockey together." He looked at her face, which bored a sad smile. "Were you and Jack close? It's strange, but I've never really imagined him having family."  
  
"You'd be surprised," she said. "When I knew him he was always very loving and open. My mom and I were his two girls, and he would do anything to make us happy. I think in some ways I was closer to him than to my mom; she was the one who would kiss my wounds and who sang to me, but Dad was the one who would read to me and take me on adventures." She chuckled bitterly. "I guess she couldn't teach me most of the things she knew without blowing her cover."  
  
"Guess not," he agreed quietly. He yawned suddenly, and watched out of the corner of his eye as his yawn caused her to stifle one of her own. "Look," he said slowly, not wanting to cross the line if she didn't want him to, "Why don't we both go to sleep, and guard each other's dreams?" At her curious look, he explained, "After my father died, my mother would often go to sleep with me in her arms. We said that we protected each other's dreams from nightmares, because we had each other, so we could be happy."  
  
She smiled, a powerful, nameless emotion in her eyes. "I'd like that," she whispered, as she reclined her chair yet again. He kept his arm in its place around her shoulder as they both peacefully fell into dreamless sleep.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
When Vaughn woke, Sydney was still asleep. His arm was totally asleep, and he knew that when he moved it he would be in for some very painful pins and needles, but he decided it was worth it as he looked at Sydney's face, utterly relaxed and peaceful for the first time since he'd met her. He was somewhat bemused to find that she had curled up her body next to his as they'd slept, probably seeking tactile comfort. He was only too happy to offer it.  
  
He looked at his watch, then gently nudged Sydney awake. The minute her eyes opened, she seemed to realize her position, and she quickly pulled away, unconsciously tucking her stray strands of hair behind her ear.  
  
"We're landing in a few minutes," he told her. She nodded. He watched in something akin to awe as she assumed the role of her alias. Of course, she had dyed her hair and donned clothes befitting Catherine King's status before the flight, but her mannerisms had still been those of young, not entirely happy Sydney Bristow. Before his eyes, though, she transformed into a haughty upper-class snob. Her chin lifted the necessary 20 degrees to arrogance as her back became ramrod straight, indicating years of etiquette training. Her lips became slightly pursed, as if she were eternally waiting for the opportunity to complain about something, even as her hands rested demurely in her lap.  
  
"Why, Mr. King," she said in a coquettish voice, batting her eyelashes at him, "Thank you ever so much for the warning." Her voice had adopted a slightly high-pitched, regal quality.  
  
"Anything for you, darling," he responded in a similarly impeccable faux- rich accent.  
  
The couple that disembarked the plane was not the same one which had boarded. The first couple would not have fit in at Paradise, as the island was called. The second was welcomed with a bright, overzealous smile and a room key promising the delights of a luxurious suite.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
They unpacked quickly and efficiently with none of the dilly-dallying the concierge would expect from a rich couple. As Sydney swept the room for bugs (she found one, and it looked like it was standard in all the suites), Vaughn set up his laptop to hack into the island's security system. Several minutes brought an, "I'm in!" from Vaughn's position in the bedroom, and a "We're clean," from the bathroom. They grinned at each other, allowing themselves to revel for a moment at a successful set-up before getting back to work.  
  
"Where do you want to start?" Vaughn asked as he slung a pair of binoculars around his neck. The binoculars were also a camera, courtesy of Marshall.  
  
"We're at a resort. Where else is there to start, other than the pool?" She quickly picked out an outfit from her suitcase before sauntering into the bathroom, leaving him the bedroom to change into swim trunks. She emerged a moment later in a provocative, revealing bikini outfit, wearing Marshall's super-swank sunglasses that somehow looked...well, swank, on her.  
  
Ten minutes later they were sunbathing on comfortable lawn chairs. Despite their relaxed appearances, both were alert, eyes scanning the pool and its surrounds as they tried to make out anyone who looked like Hassan. Vaughn had met Hassan before, so he was at least somewhat familiar with how he walked and talked, but Sydney had only seen his picture. Vaughn heard a startled intake of breath from Sydney at his side, and when he looked at her, he found her staring at a young man lying on his stomach and apparently taking a nap directly across the pool from them.  
  
"You've got to be kidding me," Vaughn breathed, even as Sydney exclaimed, "Sark, you idiot, what are you doing here?"  
  
Vaughn made as if to get up, but Sydney's hand on his arm forestalled him. "Let me handle this," she said. As she gracefully stood, she took their tube of suntan lotion with her.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Sark relaxed on his lawn chair, content with the knowledge that Hassan was not at the pool at the moment, and that a brief hour or so of appreciation for the gorgeous weather would not be remiss. Suddenly, he stiffened as he felt something very goopy and slightly cool splat on his back. Let it not be a bird...he thought as his eyes shot open in disgust and he began to sit up. He was surprised by the cool hand he felt pushing him back down, and he used one hand to shade his eyes as he looked up into the grinning face of Sydney Bristow.  
  
"I'm afraid, sir, that your back was beginning to resemble a lobster," she said in a coy voice as she began to languorously rub the suntan lotion into his back. "I thought I'd just be a terrible person to leave you here to burn, when I have some lotion to spare."  
  
He smiled. "Indeed, madam, thank you for your courtesy. Might I inquire the name of my savior?" He took one very suntan lotiony hand in his own.  
  
"Catherine King, but everyone calls me Cat," she said, depriving him of his hand as she continued the massage.  
  
"Chancellor Mercedes, at you service, madam," he said. "You're here alone?"  
  
"No. Actually, my husband is watching us rather jealously." At his raised eyebrow, she pointed across the pool at Vaughn, who was staring at them rather conspicuously through his binoculars as he took a picture or two.  
  
"My dear, you must introduce us," Sark said smoothly after she finished rubbing in the last errant blobs.  
  
She led the way as they walked slowly around the swimming pool. "Chancellor Mercedes, my husband, Richard King. Richard, Mr. Mercedes."  
  
"Chance, please," Sark said as the two shook hands. Both men glared daggers at each other as Sydney pretended not to notice.  
  
"Delighted to meet you. I'm sure," Vaughn said evenly. "Tell me, Chance, what's your business here?"  
  
Sark chuckled. "Business? We're at a resort, dear fellow. Business is the furthest thing from my mind. I'm here for rest, relaxation..." his eyes rested on Sydney, "all those pleasurable things."  
  
"Funny," Sydney broke in before Vaughn attacked the man, "I thought it was likely your were here looking for the same gentleman we were. Tall, dark, ugly, rather slippery fellow? His name slips my mind, but he's a very well- connected man."  
  
"Well, if I see him I shall be sure to tell you," Sark replied, even as Vaughn's eyes threatened to pop out of his head. Had Sark really just promised to help them if he found Hassan? He turned as if to go, but then turned back to them. "Mr. King, I don't suppose you and your lovely wife would like to enjoy dinner with me tonight."  
  
"I'm afraid not," Vaughn replied, looking anything but regretful. "My wife and I already have reservations, and we'd like to spend out time here in only each other's company."  
  
"Very well," Sark said with a smirk, enjoying getting under the younger man's skin. "Oh, and Cat, I just realized, I think I've met your mother. We had a long talk about you."  
  
Sydney was a little pale. "Really? What did dear old mum have to say?"  
  
"She's rather displeased with you. Something about you hanging with the wrong crowd, I believe."  
  
"Thank you. I shall do my best to reassure her," Sydney said cordially. After all, the rebuke was hardly unexpected.  
  
"I shall take my leave of you, then," Sark said. He nodded at Vaughn curtly before grinning roguishly at Sydney. "Goodbye, sir, madam."  
  
"Farewell, Chance," Sydney laughed at his antics.  
  
Vaughn grunted at him what might have, had it been intelligible, been a "goodbye."  
  
After Sark's perfectly tanned (not remotely lobster-like) back had safely left their vision, Vaughn turned to Sydney. "You and I need to have a little talk." 


	10. Betrayal

A/N: sorry for the delay updating! Keep the reviews coming; constructive criticism is appreciated! Also, if anyone would be interested in betaing for me, let me know!  
  
Vaughn latched the door securely and turned to face his partner, a deeply troubled look in his eyes. "Explain to me why I just spent the past five minutes having a civil discussion with a wanted terrorist, rather than trying to kill or capture him. I mean, I know you're friends with him, but you work for the CIA now! Sark cannot be the first on your list of priorities!"  
  
She cocked an eyebrow, trying to maintain a nonchalant expression even as she felt extremely nervous inside. This confrontation, she knew, would not be a pleasant one. "What were you going to do, Vaughn?" she demanded. "Shoot at him in front of all those civilians?"  
  
"My actions are not the ones being questioned here, Sydney," he said evenly, a look she had never seen before and couldn't name in his eyes. "I mean, if we'd had him cornered in our hotel room, you'd have done the same thing, wouldn't you?"  
  
She sighed. "Probably. Look, Vaughn, I've never deceived you about my feelings for Sark, have I? I told you the day I met you that he's my mentor and friend. I hate to break it to you, but if it comes down to a choice between the CIA and one of my friends, the friend is always going to win."  
  
"I don't understand!" he snarled, frustrated. "He's a terrorist! He kills people mercilessly in cold blood, and you just casually let him go. Why would you come work for the CIA if you don't feel that people like him should be locked behind bars for the rest of their lives?"  
  
"People like him?" she asked dangerously. "Don't be so naïve, Vaughn. He's working on a different side than we are, but we're still spies, and so is he. He's not a different species."  
  
"Sydney, he's a murderer!"  
  
"And we're not? How many people have you killed Vaughn? Did they all deserve it? I'm sure you think they did---and Sark thinks that everyone he killed deserved to die, as well. How do you draw the line?" Despite herself, Sydney was becoming angry. Had he forgotten that she had worked with these people for years? His accusation that they, and by extension, her, were murderers, stung.  
  
He glared at her. "I've just learned that my father was killed by The Man, Irina Derevko, for no reason except that he got in her way. Will you tell me that Derevko was the same kind of person as us?"  
  
She could not meet his eyes, looking away as her anger instantly dissipated. He had found her weak spot so quickly. "No," she admitted quietly, so that he had to strain to hear her. "Your father's death was murder of the worst kind." When she gathered her courage and looked up at him, she had tears gleaming in her eyes. "But, whatever you think, Sark does not commit such murderers. I had at least that much restraining effect on him. Deaths like your father's are the kind that I came here to aveng---stop."  
  
Vaughn had not missed her slip. "You came to work for the CIA to avenge someone's death," he stated quietly. It was not a question. "Whose?" When Sydney turned her head away, he felt something twist in his stomach. Why was she not answering? He reached forward and gently took her chin in his hand, turning her head so that she was looking him in the eye. "Whose, Sydney?"  
  
She still didn't answer, just gazed at him with those gorgeous chocolate- brown eyes of hers, just a hint of moisture shining. The emotions were running so high in the air, Vaughn felt his heart pumping, and he couldn't keep himself from leaning forward, and he gently touched his lips to hers, savoring the sweetness, keeping the kiss chaste, but being insistent enough to show her that he was enjoying it. She leaned into it for a moment, losing herself in the sensation, but then she reminded herself who she was-- -and who he was. She broke the contact, turning her face away so that her lips were near his ear. She could hear him breathing hard.  
  
"Your father's," she whispered. She felt him start, but she continued, forcing him to see the terrible truth. "Irina Derevko is my mother."  
  
He jerked back from her, his eyes wide, his head shaking from side to side in denial, hands up as if to ward off her words. He found in her eyes only the sincerest sympathy and sorrow, and it was too much for him to handle. With a strangled cry, he ran from the room, barely pausing to throw open the lock before running away.  
  
She stood slowly, walking to the door and looking after him, allowing the tears to slide slowly down her face. "I'm so sorry." She knew he couldn't hear her heartfelt words.  
  
She felt a presence approach her, and she turned towards its warmth, knowing instinctively who it was.  
  
"Sark." Her voice held no emotion.  
  
"I thought the young man you were with looked vaguely familiar," Sark said casually, pretending he didn't notice her tears. He wanted more than anything to take her into his arms and hug her tightly, telling her not to worry, that he loved her, that Agent Wrinkles didn't mean anything, anyways. Instead, he stood slightly apart from her, aloof. "I admit my surprise that you have been keeping company with Michael Vaughn." When she didn't respond, he continued, "Especially considering your...history with his family."  
  
He was rather shocked when she pulled her right fist back and socked him incredibly hard in the face.  
  
"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed, raising his hand to wipe away the bit of blood trickling down his face. "What was that for?" he demanded.  
  
"Your behavior today was abominable," she snarled. "You knew I was working with a CIA agent, and you still felt the need to bait him? You're lucky he didn't haul you off in handcuffs."  
  
He frowned severely. "He would have died trying," he said, and there was no mistaking the menace in his voice.  
  
She stepped in close to him. "You will never do anything to harm Michael Vaughn," she growled at him.  
  
Sark sighed. He still didn't know when the terrible thing had happened. He still couldn't remember the moment when he let down his guard for just one instant and fell in love with Sydney Bristow. Now was one of those moments when he regretted letting her affect him the way she did---his emotions were roiling topsy-turvy and there was nothing he could do about it. Heck, he wasn't even angry about the punch any more!  
  
"Sydney, love, I got angry watching the way he was fawning over you like an obnoxious puppy. I just got...possessive."  
  
He knew it was the wrong thing to say the minute he said it. Her eyebrows narrowed, and she hissed, "Possessive? What right do you have to be possessive, Sark?" When he opened his mouth to respond, she jabbed him in the chest with her finger. "I don't belong to you, Sark. And I never will."  
  
For just one moment, his blue eyes betrayed the deep hurt he felt at her words, and she regretted them. Then the shutter came down over his features, smoothing them into the impenetrable, bland mask he showed to the world. It was a mask he had never before used against her. "Indeed, Ms. Bristow," he said smoothly, an underling talking to his boss's snotty daughter. "And I am glad that such is the case." He nodded perfunctorily at her, then walked down the hall back the way he came, turning his back on her.  
  
Sydney cursed herself for her ineptitude. She was at a resort with two of the three men she cared most about in the world, and she had hurt them both, and not the kind of hurt easily repaired. Her eyes vacillated, wandering first down the hall in one direction, then in the other. She knew by the time she had found one, the other would be long gone.  
  
She headed after Vaughn, barely noticing as she brushed past a Middle- Eastern man, unconsciously reaching to her glasses to take a picture of him as she raced past.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
She found him at the taxi stand, waiting to catch a ride back to the small airport. He stiffened visibly when he caught sight of her, and when she approached him it was clear from his posture that he wished she would go away.  
  
"I called Sloane," he said stiffly. "I told him that the mission was a failure, and that we weren't going to work as partners."  
  
She nodded, as if in acceptance. "Do you hate me, Vaughn?" she asked quietly. "My mother killed your father in cold blood. Do you hate me?"  
  
He was crying now, not caring that she saw. "How can I know what to feel, Sydney? Do you know how hard it is for me to trust people? Leading the kind of life I---we---do, finding a person who can know everything about me is something I can't even dream of doing. And then, there you were, an angel descending from the cloud to answer my deepest wishes. I didn't understand anything about you, but still, I felt like something connected between us. And now I learn that you've been hiding this secret---this terrible secret" he whispered "from me. Hearing what you said---it nearly killed me."  
  
"Vaughn...the betrayal that you feel, I've felt before, too. It's what drove me here, it's why I had to find you, to help you, to protect you..."  
  
"What do you mean?" he asked tonelessly.  
  
She started pacing. "When I grew up, my mother was the center of my universe. I loved her so much, especially since my beloved father was 'dead'. Then, I found out that, not only had my mother lied to me about my father's death, but she had also been involved in the brutal murder of innocent CIA agents. For years after learning about my father's death, I felt so lost, so betrayed by the world. Learning that my mother had caused a little boy on the other side of the world the same pain...I couldn't take it. In a matter of days, your happiness was more important to me than my own, and I knew that I would do whatever it took to help you achieve the goal you were most driven to---eliminating SD-6."  
  
Their eyes locked, and for several moments they basked in their mutual unhappiness. Both had been such victims of the lives they had been born into, both had discovered that their lives were lies. Neither could stand the idea of causing the other more pain.  
  
Vaughn could not do aught but be honest. "I don't hate you," he whispered. He reached up a hand as if to caress her face, then dropped it. He turned away. "I just need time. To think things through."  
  
She reached out her hand to lightly clasp his. "We have all the time in the world. We'll both get through this, and be the stronger for it," she told him, and the strength in her voice nearly convinced him. His hand squeezed hers.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
"Irina."  
  
"The mission was a success?"  
  
"Yes. Hassan changed his appearance, but an X-ray scan confirmed that it's his bone structure. I've got the files for the pictures with me." "Something's wrong. I can hear it in your voice."  
  
Pause.  
  
"I think Sydney is going to betray us. She is associating with an Agent Michael Vaughn on a regular basis."  
  
"Sydney knows nothing about my...intervention into young Michael's life."  
  
"How can you be so sure about that? If Sydney knows the truth about you..."  
  
"She doesn't. And she never will."  
  
"Very well. Shall I come home now?"  
  
"Yes. And, Sark?"  
  
"Hmmm?"  
  
"Never mention this topic again." 


	11. Choices

A/N: right, I know it's been waaaay too long since I've updated, and you all have my sincere apologies. I can be responsible, really I can!

A/N2: let me know how this chapter is, since it's quite different from everything else that's happened so far; it's mostly character studies, but we have some action at the end!

* * *

_"Never mention this topic again."_

Irina laughed bitterly. So, Sark had finally become suspicious, had he? She sighed. He was a genius, with skills that were of great use to her organization, but his appalling stupidity when it came to her daughter was an unfortunate indication of his lack of total reliability.

She rested her head in her hands. Even as she stared at the worn wood of her antique desk, her peripheral vision presented her with two images: the brandy glass on her right, and the untraceable cell phone on her left. The former was her only concession to the turmoil that was wracking her brain right now. The latter was what she knew she would have to use, at terrible cost.

Sark had only now become suspicious of Sydney's motives, but Irina had had suspicions from the beginning. No one knew her daughter as well as she did; Sydney was stubborn to a fault, and too inquisitive for her own good. There was no way to be sure, but Irina would not be surprised to learn that Sydney had eavesdropped on her private discussions, learning Irina's deepest and darkest secrets.

These suspicions had been confirmed yesterday, when Irina had finally managed to cultivate a mole within Sydney's CIA office; a Stephen Haladki. He was a disgustingly obsequious man, but he served his purpose well enough. He had copied for her the tape of Sydney's first conversation with Jack. Even as her heart had pounded, seeing the man she had cared for---dare she think, loved?---and the daughter she would always love conversing about _her_, she barely kept from weeping when all of her fears were confirmed. Sydney had betrayed her: she had revealed her mother's identity, both as The Man, and as the assassin of numerous CIA agents. Although Sydney had refused to work with the CIA to bring her mother down, nevertheless she had already revealed information to them which would help them, and, if she chose to, she knew enough about the locations and leaders of the organization to bring it crashing down.

Once, Irina would have sworn that Sydney would not do such a thing. Now, seeing the tape, seeing how broken up her daughter was over her actions of over a decade ago, she was utterly uncertain. And uncertainty was not a feeling the leader of a huge organization like Irina's could afford.

She lifted the brandy glass, taking a drink and relishing the burn as it went down. She set it back on the table with a loud _clink_. Twelve years ago, she had been weak. Too enamored of her role as Laura Bristow, she had been able to leave her husband behind---but not her daughter. Now, both she and Sydney would pay the price. She and Sydney were individuals, pieces of a chessboard. They were expendable, and, in the end, easy to get rid of. The manipulators of that chessboard---SD-6, the CIA, The Man---were not.

During her entire stay as a spy in the U.S., Irina had managed to stay loyal to the KGB. Though she had loved her husband, it was not the kind of all-consuming love that would keep her from ever hurting him. It was a more relaxed love, a feeling of affection for and respect towards someone who deserved both. Then Sydney had entered her world, and she had been lost. She had fallen into the grip of a love so strong that many times over she had risked everything just to make sure her daughter was happy. But, now, she had to be strong. Too much was at stake.

A solitary tear tracked its way slowly down Irina's face as she lifted the cell phone and dialed a number she knew all-too-well.

"Hello, Ricardo? I have a job for you."

* * *

Vaughn sat in his house, staring blearily at the bug killer on his table. "Can't be too careful," he slurred. "Never know when SD-6 could be listening." He placed a finger on his lips, the universal gesture of silence, just to make sure his dog, Donovan, understood what he was trying to tell him. "Wouldn't they like to know aaaalllll about Sydney? And me, for that matter?"

He shook his head. _Sydney_. The name sent numerous conflicting emotions careening through his muddled head. He still felt the icy stab of hurt he had experienced when he realized that she had known all along who his father's killer was, and she had never told him. Nevertheless, he understood why she would be reluctant to talk about it; it couldn't be a pleasant experience admitting that one's mother was a heartless murderer who would probably kill her own daughter if she thought it would profit her. But, he was so confused---how could he be coming to _love_ the daughter of the woman who killed his father? Wait---what did he just think? Love? Where did that come from?

It was true. In the silence of his house, with only Donovan for company, and a bug killer to make sure the conversation stayed private, he could admit it. "I'm falling in love with Sydney Bristow. God help me."

* * *

Sark sat in his luxurious mansion, staring dully into space, a glass of Chateau Petruse, '82, in his hand. He took a sip. Ordinarily, he would savor the taste, enjoying the satisfaction of drinking a fine wine. Instead, the wine was like ashes in his mouth. Today all his senses seemed dull.

All his senses except his hearing. No, that was fine. Better than fine. So good he could hear, over and over again, no matter how hard he tried not to, _"I don't belong to you Sark. And I never will. And I never will. I never will. Never will. Never. Never. Neeevvvveerrrrr."_

"You idiot," he snarled to himself. "Pining over some girl like there aren't a thousand others like her." But there weren't; that was the problem. To Sark, other girls had always been just an amusement, a plaything to occupy him between jobs. Sydney was utterly different; she was the breath of fresh air in a long stuffed-up house. She was the one person who could bring a smile to his face when he was in one of his frequent foul moods. She was the one he had taught some of his skills to---only to turn around and find that, in many ways, she had surpassed him. She was that beautiful, innocent creature which maintained its purity in a sea of evil. She was the one who made him into a poet, spouting metaphors like a bloody fool.

Was it any wonder he had fallen in love with her, really?

_I never will_.

He had been so hurt by her rejection that he had betrayed her. With the sting had come that terrible insight, the horrible realization, that, if she could desert him for Michael Bloody Vaughn, she could also desert The Man for the CIA. The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. Sydney was not loyal to The Man. The fact of this realization was not the betrayal, though; the fact that he actually called Irina about it was. He knew what she was capable of; if she thought Sydney would betray her, she would not hesitate to have her killed.

_"I think Sydney is going to betray us. She is associating with an Agent Michael Vaughn on a regular basis."_

_"Sydney knows nothing about my...intervention into young Michael's life."_

_"How can you be so sure about that? If Sydney knows the truth about you..."_

_"She doesn't. And she never will."_

_"Very well.__ Shall I come home now?"_

_"Yes. And, Sark?"_

_"Hmmm?"___

_"Never mention this topic again."_

He frowned. Rewound the conversation in his head. _"She doesn't. And she never will._" There was something in her tone when she said that...Rewind again. _"She doesn't. And she never will."_

Sark's eyes widened, and he sat up abruptly, not caring as his wineglass fell from his hand to shatter on the floor. He had spent many long years building up his abilities as a spy. One of the most important was the ability to tell when someone else was lying to him. And Irina had lied. There was the slightest tremor in her voice, the slightest _offness_ in the sound of her words, that put his every sense on full alert.

Irina knew something he did not. She had proof that Sydney had betrayed her. She would have Sydney executed.

"No. No! Nononononononononononono!" His mind screamed at him. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he had an overactive imagination that was making things up. After all, he hadn't noticed anything off during the actual conversation, had he?

_Stop fooling yourself_, he commanded himself. If there was something he lacked, it was an overactive imagination. If he remembered there being something wrong, then there _was something wrong_.

Now his mind was racing. Somewhere along the way in his musings, he had come to the utterly unconscious decision that he would do whatever it took to save Sydney. Even if she wasn't his. Even if she never would be. He loved her, and that meant he must help her.

* * *

Jack sat in his sleek black Lincoln, parked safely across the street from an outdoor restaurant, where he was supposed to meet Sydney for dinner. She had called him the night before, asking whether he'd like to meet her there. He had agreed. He looked at his watch. He was thirty minutes late. He had been sitting here for the past forty-five minutes. Long enough to see her sit down, looking slightly unhappy about something. Long enough to see her minute frown become even deeper when he didn't show up. Long enough to see her raise her napkin to her face, an action which could only mean that she was dashing a tear away. Long enough to curse himself for his foolishness, but not long enough for him to overcome his cowardice and approach the daughter he barely knew.

He took out his cell phone and dialed.

"Hello?" Her voice gave no indication of how upset she was.

"Sydney? It's me. I'm sorry, but I'm not going to be able to make it to dinner tonight. I have an important meeting at work." _Liar!_ he told himself.

"Oh." He could hear the heartbreak in her voice. "Oh, OK. Well, I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Right. Bye." He hung up before he could hear her voice again, then rested his forehead on his steering wheel.

He loved his daughter, he really did. But he couldn't bring himself to show her just how much he cared.

* * *

Will sat on a chair in his living room, watching Sydney sleep on his couch. Her face was still tearstained, marred by the tears she had poured forth for her father's cruel negligence. When he had opened the door, he had been shocked to find her standing on his front step, crying loud sobs, and clearly looking for comfort. He had taken her into her arms and sat with her on his couch, not asking her why she was so upset, simply letting her get it out of her system.

After an hour or so of crying, she had fallen into a troubled sleep on his couch. He considered lifting her up and putting her on his only bed, but decided that would be going a bit too far. Instead, he covered her with a blanket, careful to make sure that she was comfortable. Then he stepped back to watch her.

She looked so peaceful in her sleep. The furrows of her eyebrows disappeared, and her lips were slightly curled up at the edges. Her eyes were moving behind her eyelids, indicating that she was dreaming. Will wished that she was dreaming happy dreams about him.

He had fallen in love with her, and he knew it. He had had a crush on her ever since he first saw her, but when she let him into her life, introduced him to her best friend, and invited him to become one of her closest friends, that original crush had become so much more. He was in love with her, and he knew she didn't know it. Watching her lying there, feeling safe enough around him to sleep peacefully on his couch, he hoped desperately that he had a chance with her.

* * *

Sloane sat in his dark office, the last person left at SD-6 that night, except for the security guard. In front of him, on his computer screen, was a picture of a Rambaldi manuscript. The most startling thing about it was the fact that it bore a picture which had been drawn centuries ago. The picture was an unmistakable image of Sydney Bristow.

Sydney. She was quite the enigma, even to Sloane, who prided himself on his ability to read people and to anticipate their next moves. He had been quite startled when she had suddenly popped back into her life as a key figure. Of course, he was unsurprised by her abilities, but it was her motivations that left him perplexed. What reason did she have for deciding to work at SD-6? Other than her father's presence...

He remembered Sydney when she was a small child. So very happy, with two parents who loved her with all their hearts. She called him her "Uncle Arvin" and he lost his heart to her, as well. He and Emily were unable to have children, so, for both of them, Sydney was like their own child. Then Laura and Sydney had "died." Imagine his surprise when he met them both at an Alliance Christmas party, three years later.

He had found that Sydney hadn't changed. She was still the sweet girl he had known, although certainly saddened by her father's "death." Irina had forbidden him to tell Sydney the truth.

And now Sydney was working for him. She was an excellent agent, passionate in her work.

And now Sloane learned that something had been prophesied about Sydney by Rambaldi, all those years ago. The Rambaldi code hadn't been broken yet, but it would be, in time, and he would know.

Sloane still loved her like a daughter, but he would do as Rambaldi instructed. Whatever the cost.

* * *

Ricardo sat in the darkness of his temporary room, making sure his weapons were all in place. Everything had to be perfect for this hit, or life as he knew it would be over: he would either be arrested by the CIA, or The Man would see to it that something far worse happened to him.

Still, he wasn't worried. He was one of the top assassins in the world, and had never failed. This one was simply a challenge: a close-range hit on a trained CIA operative right outside the CIA building.

He was a top assassin because, during his hits, he felt no emotion except determination. He could not fear. He would not love. He would not fail.

* * *

**_The Next Morning_**

Sydney walked purposefully toward the CIA building, no sign on her face of the feelings she had wrestled with yesterday. Devlin had requested that she come in for a meeting so they could discuss how she felt about "the Vaughn Situation." Would they be able to continue as partners?

About thirty feet from the door, three things happened simultaneously. Sydney heard a shout. At the same time, she snapped her head to the left to see what the commotion was. The action saved her life, as a wicked-looking knife plunged down where the center of her head had been moments before, harmlessly slicing off a few hairs from her ponytail.

She whirled into action immediately, whirling to face her attacker, barely registering that the man who had shouted was Sark, and that he was running as fast as he could towards them, waving a gun. Even as she blocked a punch from the attacker, she wildly wondered whether Sark was coming to help her, which seemed unlikely, or to help her attacker.

For the first time, she got a glimpse of the attacker. He was very tall, and slender. He looked like he had no body fat---he was skin, bones, and muscle. Lots of muscle.

She prayed that her skills were better than his. She was unarmed, and he was obviously well-armed. A general rule was: when two fighters of equal ability face off, the larger one will always win. Especially when the larger one was the only one with weapons.

She learned in the next few, incredibly tense moments of punches and blocks, swipes and stumbles, that her prayer was not to be answered. He was good, one of the best she had ever seen. From his second slice, she received a cut to the shoulder; not deep, but deep enough to sting and bleed profusely. His first kick knocked her to her knees on the ground. As she watched, dazed, she knew that his third slice would kill her, stabbing her in the heart.

* * *

Sark ran for all he was worth. He had been too late! Only a few minutes too late to warn her ahead of time, or to set himself up as a sniper on the top a roof somewhere nearby. He had his gun with him, but if he actually stopped to take the time to fire, he would be too late, and he couldn't fire while running full tilt and actually expect to hit his target. He was close, so close. His vision was blurring as he saw Sydney take a cut to the shoulder. He forced his running eyes to stay focused as she was knocked to her knees. His eyes widened when he saw the attacker preparing to bury his knife in her chest.

He had two choices. He could stop now, and shoot the attacker, but he knew that, though the attacker would be dead, Sydney would be as well.

Or, he could---leap!

Even as he took the knife in his stomach, he pulled the trigger on his gun at point blank range into the man's chest. Three shots, and then the attacker was down.

So was Sark.

Sydney was up instantly, moving to Sark's side and kneeling next to him. Only now did the guards get to the scene where the battle had taken place. One checked, and knew that the attacker was very dead. The other moved to help Sydney with her rescuer. One glance at the wound, though, and the guard stepped back to give them their space. It was fatal.

"Sark, you idiot," Sydney sobbed, pressing her hands against the wound in his abdomen, pressing futilely to staunch the flow of blood. "What kind of stupid thing to do was that?"

He smiled slightly. "Ah, Sydney. Such sweet words you always have for me." He lifted his hand to rest it on the side of her face.

She gripped his hand in hers. "I'm sorry," she said. "Please, don't die..." She was crying.

"And shedding tears for me," he said softly. "Who would have thought?" He grimaced as a spasm of pain wracked his body. She just shook her head, unable to speak. "Sydney," he suddenly said, desperately, as if he knew that these were the last words he would speak. "It was your m-mother. Sydney," he gasped. "I lo-love y-you."

His hand went limp.

Sydney knelt sobbing by his body as a pool of bright red blood slowly spread on the pavement.

* * *

A/N: OK, folks, one more chapter for this fic. I'm planning on writing a sequel, but right now I have other stuff I've got to work on, so I'm finishing this one up for now!

Please review; the reviews'll determine when the last chapter's posted!

Thanks to everyone who's reviewed in the past!


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